


Seven Nation Army

by DareDreemer, TiBun, Xenobia



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Bottom Alan, Bottom Ronald, Bottom Undertaker, Character Death, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Gore, Grell and Undertaker switch positions once but Grell's bottom mostly, Grelltaker, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Romance, Ronalliam, Slingphries, Top Grell, Top Undertaker, Top William, Torture, Tragedy, Violence, bottom Grell, top Eric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 265,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DareDreemer/pseuds/DareDreemer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiBun/pseuds/TiBun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobia/pseuds/Xenobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hostile takeover of Dispatch is in the works, and the reapers find themselves caught in the middle of it. Some join the enemy, while others resist or stay neutral. The bonds of friendship and loyalty are put to the ultimate test as the opposition threatens to take over all branches globally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Main Roles:  
> Xenobiacat: Undertaker, Eric, William (Chapters 9+), OC-Alex  
> TiBun: Ronald, Alan, Grell (Chapters 9+)  
> DareDreemer: William, Grell (Chapters 1-9)
> 
> Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. We make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

Sunset was falling on the Shinigami realm. Skyscrapers of an archeology build not yet found in the mortal realm reflected the orange-yellow glow off the multiple windows of the buildings, and pigeons flew past them. The design of the metropolis was set up in concentric circles, representing something of an iris. In the very center of this supernatural province was a superstructure of a more advanced build: Headquarters to the Shinigami Dispatch Association. The skyscraper reached up to the heavens, looking over the London Shinigami city.

William T. Spears—supervisor of the Shinigami Dispatch department—sat at his desk, going through his files for perhaps the sixth time since finding what he believed to be an encrypted code in one of them. With a frown of concentration, he continued to work on it until he figured out a way to decrypt it.

He wished he’d never done that. The moment he broke the security code and saw the message: “Dispatch operator Levitz”, his computer began to beep and blip at him. Then a code of numbers sprang up and his entire database became compromised.

"Oh, bloody hell," cursed William. He did his best to salvage it, and while he was in the process of doing that, Ronald Knox came into his office.

"Hey boss, I’m about to head out for the night," informed the blond. He walked over to William’s desk and dropped his file folder of reports on it to be processed. "Er…you okay?"

William rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and shook his head. “No, Ronald Knox, I am most assuredly not okay at this moment. I believe someone has hacked into our network and…and…oh, hell.”

Ronald leaned over the desk with a frown, sticking his face in front of the computer screen. “What?”

William stood up, grabbed him by the arm and nearly yanked it out of the socket. “Go. Just go, Ronald.”

They made it to the door and William found it locked. He frowned and he tried his keycard. It didn’t work. Ronald’s babbled questions certainly weren’t helping anything. An odd vapor began to come in through the air conditioning vents, and it smelled of sulfur.

"Ronald, don’t breathe," he warned his confused underling, narrowing his eyes.

"Boss, what the hell’s going on?" demanded Ronald.

"I said don’t breathe!" snapped the supervisor. It seemed a mild threat considering their kind didn’t require oxygen to live, but he could not draw breath to call for security and considering how this had just happened, he wasn’t certain he truly wanted to. The purpose of the gas became clear to him as the fumes made his eyes sting, and Ronald coughed a complaint.

"Oh, honestly," Choked William, looking at the floor-to-ceiling pane of window facing out over the city.

This was going to hurt.

 

* * *

 

"Mister Knox, do remain calm. We cannot draw attention to ourselves. Let us first find a hotel and get checked in. We cannot stay in the open, even here. It is far to dangerous and our wounds need attending." William spoke firmly as he knelt down before the frightened young reaper, who had collapsed, exhausted and in pain after their turbulent port to the mortal realm.

Currently, they were hidden in an alley, but at any moment a mortal or reaper could discover them. It was imperative that they find a hiding place; and fast. There had been no time to make it to either dispatch officer’s home to collect clothing or other important personal items. No, they had been forced to flee with only the clothes on their backs. Now stranded in the mortal realm, their home cut off from them, William looked towards the streets of London. They had to find a safe place, figure out who they could and could not trust, and how to stay alive.

"Calm down? Were you not in there with me? Did you not see what filled your office?! Fuck! Senpai! Someone tried to kill us—or you—but I was there too, so _us_! It’s not right! I don’t care how pissed off people are about any overtime you give them! An assassination attempt is _way_ over-reacting!” Ronald huffed, bending over and breathing hard, “Rhea’s fuck! I can’t _breathe_!” The young blond coughed and looked up at William, “What was that all about, anyway?”

"Honestly, Mister Knox?" Will’s brows both raised in question. After a moment, he closed his eyes and shook his head. "I really cannot say. But it appears I stumbled upon something I was not suppose to and now…"

Will stood up and looked towards the sky. He sighed before he looked back down at the dumbfounded blond. “We’re being hunted.”

"And you pull me into the hunt? I thought you liked me, Senpai!" Ron complained, starting up, "So where do we go? Can’t go home now. So much for finding a date for tonight…" he sighed and  walked to the end of the alley, peeking out at the humans going about their business.

William watched as the blond waked to the edge of the ally. He frowned as another sigh escaped him. “I know of a hotel, not far from here. We can stay there for a night or two. I have some money on my person—enough for the room, a couple days worth of food and two sets of clothing for the both of us, along with a few necessary items. We can lay our plan out as soon as we arrive at the location and settle into our rooms.”

"I have some cash on me, too, but not an impressive amount. I don’t like having too much on me in case I drink too much—I’ll end up drinking away my wallet if I get too drunk. But I can pitch it in for helping out. Man, this _sucks_!” He  huffed and  turned back to look at William, “Where’s this hotel? This area isn’t near my pubs, so I don’t know the area as well.”

"The hotel is just around the corner and down one block. Not far. It’s respectable and we will have plenty of privacy. Shall we be on our way?" Will replied as he stepped alongside the blond. His eyes began to wander up and down the boulevard. "I do believe the coast is clear."

Ronald nodded, looking down at his signature white shoes as they stepped out side-by-side and headed down the cobblestone sidewalk towards the hotel. “Sir…have you any clue as to what all that was about? I can’t seem to wrap my mind around it. We are on the run and I haven’t the faintest idea as to why or from whom.”

William looked over at his companion, then looked straight ahead. “I didn’t get a good look, but before the screen went haywire, there was a list of reapers. My name was at the top and then there was a message about treason.” He sighed as they began to cross the street. “I wish my memory would serve me better, but regrettably I was overcome with thoughts of escape and survival. What I did see is vague to me. The only thing I am certain of is that we are in danger and Dispatch is being cast into chaos as we speak. Who is behind it? Your guess would be as good as mine.”

"Well, I don’t like it!" Ronald huffed, crossing his arms, "I’d rather have overtime—and you _know_ how much I loathe the idea of overtime!” He sighed, taking a deep breath and letting it out, lacing his fingers behind his head as he walked, looking up at the sky, “Hey, boss…what you did back there—you know, using yourself as a wrecking ball to that window to get us out of there…that was kinda cool.”

Scoffing, Will paused on the pavement and turned to the blond. “It was nothing more than me trying to save our lives. There was nothing ‘cool’ about it, Mister Knox. Would you rather we had stayed and discovered first hand what was going on? Though I doubt we would be alive if we had.”

"I probably would have thrown a chair if it had been me to think of a way out first." Ronald shrugged, "You got all into it. One minute you were scolding me for breathing and then the next—no more window. No matter the reason for it, it was still cool!"

William rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses before resuming his steps and continuing onto the hotel. The title of being cool was redundant to him. He had strictly reacted on instinct. It was either stay and meet their end or jump and live another day.

"Not much further, Mister Knox." He stated as the hotel came into view. "Hopefully rooms will still be available as the season has just begun here. Society has returned to their capital."

"If not, we’d have to find a different place, I guess." Ronald shrugged, "What sucks is that we shouldn’t stay here too long. If we _are_ being hunted like you said, we should keep moving.”

"A night or two we can afford. However, I do concur with you. No more than that or we will be found out." Will agreed, but his shoulder was beginning to ache where a large shard of glass had cut into the fabric of his coat, scratched beneath his white dress shirt and into his flesh. He would heal, but the wound still required medical attention and a good night’s rest. Subconsciously, he reached up began to rub it.

"We may also need to find mortal work or something to help pay for—is something wrong with your shoulder?" Ronald fell in step behind William and looked closer, "Oh—shit! That looks like it hurts!"

William glanced at the blond. Snarkily, he scoffed: “You _do_ know how to use that odd colored head of yours, don’t you? I have just assumed all this time your head was full of nothing but liquor and the cheap perfume of all the ladies you chase after. I am quite astonished, Mister Knox. As for my shoulder… it is indeed hurt, but shall heal.”

"Not with that glass shard in it like that!" he insisted, "We need to get it out, clean it and bandage it up—and just so you know, I am a _whole_ lot smarter than you give me credit for!” he crossed his arms defensively, “And I’m not a skirt-chaser!”

"Not a skirt chaser, Mister Knox? And yet all day long you do nothing but flirt and ogle the ladies in Affairs. If you put half of that energy into your work, just think how much further you would be by now and in such a short time frame. I daresay, Ronald Knox, that you are a fine reaper…you just lack discipline." William argued back, ignoring the bit about his arm. He was in a foul mood, tired and quite frankly pissed at whoever was behind the incident in his office.

"I see nothing wrong with wanting to see people smile! And they have the most dull job, of course I’ll try to get them to smile—it doesn’t mean I want t’ get in their pants!" Ronald defended.

Sighing, William stopped and narrowed his eyes on the blond. “Are you saying, Mister Knox, that you are not interested in any of the ladies you pay attention to?”

"Of course I’m interested in them. Just not date-wise, no. We’re all just friends." Ronald shrugged, "They aren’t my type, anyways."

William, adjusted his glasses and started walking again. “You are the most confusing reaper, Mister Knox.”

The steps of the hotel now lay before them and William stopped and looked up to the front doors of the building. The hotel was busy. Mortals flowed in and out of the acclaimed hotel. He quickly glanced at the blond before climbing the staircase.

He reached the doors first and pulled one open, allowing a pair of ladies to step out from inside. He bowed and wished them a good day, then ushered Ronald in ahead of him.

"Pardon me, we would like two rooms for two nights." Will requested as he smiled pleasantly at the desk attendant, in the lobby. The man was a short, dark-haired gentleman and he wore a matching moustache above his top lip.

"Nh, nope, no good." The man said, flipping through his book, "We’re booked—almost. we only have one room, sir."

Ronald snickered, “Then we’ll take one room.” he looked at William and grinned, “I promise no parties in the room, Senpai.”

William glared at Ronald, then smiled back at the man behind the desk. “Surely you must be mistaken? There is no way we can room together.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing in the process. “At least, please tell me, there are two beds in the room?”

"Might be." The man shrugged, taking the last key off the wall of hooks behind him, "I’m filling in fer my brother-in-law… ‘e’s sick this week. ‘e owns the place. I just book the rooms. Sign ‘ere please." he pointed to the book and Ronald took the pen, dipping it in the inkwell before signing his name.

"Don’t look so disappointed. What choice do we have?" he set the pen down and counted out what they needed for the room and handed it over in exchange for the key which had their room number written on a tag attached to it. "I don’t bite, Willie."

"Don’t call me ‘Willie’, Mister Knox," Will all but growled as he headed for the staircase leading to the upper floors of the hotel.

Ronald shrugged and hurried after him, “You need to loosen up a bit,” he suggested. “I think that glass shard is pinching your stress nerves even tighter. Room two-ten, by the way.”

* * *

 

"Eric, you’re driving awfully fast," scolded Alan as his partner’s golden sports car sped through a traffic light and peeled rubber around a corner. The younger reaper was gripping the sides of his seat with white-knuckled hands, and he’d gone pale with alarm. Eric was an excellent driver and he liked to do racing courses now and then, but he’d never driven this aggressively in the city, with Alan in the car.

The Scotsman glanced in his rearview mirror again, as if checking to be sure there was no pursuit. “Sorry Al. I’ve go’ mah reasons.”

"M-mind telling me what those reasons are?" Alan swallowed as they approached an intersection. "Red light. Eric, there’s a _red light_ ahead!”

Eric didn’t slow down. He switched lanes upon seeing the van up ahead of him so that he’d have no obstacles. “‘S fine, Alan. I know these lights. It’ll change.”

"Oh Death help us," whined the brunet, squeezing his eyes shut.

The light did indeed change to green, mere seconds before Eric drove through it. Alan’s eyes popped open and he compressed his lips, giving his blond companion a stern glare. “Eric Cameron Slingby, if you don’t stop this vehicle I swear I’ll put in for a transfer to another partner!”

Eric glanced at him and grimaced, knowing better than to brush off the threat. He obligingly slowed down, but he didn’t pull over. “Jus’ wait ‘till we get ou’ of the central iris. Trust me, Alan.”

The layout of the London Shinigami metropolis was in concentric circles, the streets and buildings laid out like a big wheel. It was designed to represent an eye, and their were six sectors in all referred to as irises. The “pupil” of the great city was where Dispatch Headquarters and the courthouse were located, and the Great Library was the only building off by itself, separate from the sprawling city on an island a short distance from the ocean shoreline.  

"I want to know what’s going on!"

The bigger man clenched his jaw and looked ahead, the dying rays of sunlight flashing on his blue-tinted glasses. “I cannae tell ya, but I’m doin’ this fer yer own good.”

"What, trying to give me a heart attack?" persisted Alan. He felt a warning tightness in his chest; not from a heart attack, but from the curse that he’d contracted due to his own sympathy for his reaping targets. He took a few deep, slow breaths until it ebbed, and he sighed in relief that it didn’t turn into another full-blown attack.

Eric gave him a guilty look, and he reached out to lay one big, tanned hand over Alan’s knee. “Sorry fer scarin’ ya.”

Alan looked down at the hand on his knee and he flushed a little, his pale, sculpted features betraying a mixture of confusion and excitement as the simple touch made a thrill go through him. It wasn’t easy to stay angry with him. He’d always found his partner attractive, with his wavy blond hair, strong build and handsome features. Then there was that accent…it made Alan melt inside.

He couldn’t think of anything to say, and he lamented the loss of Eric’s touch when he took his hand off his knee to shift down. They pulled up at one of the small parks in the fourth iris after a while—the one a few blocks from Alan’s apartment—and Eric sighed and twisted in the driver’s seat to look at him full-on.

"I wish I could explain everythin’ tae ya, sweetheart, but there’s no time fer it. Ya need tae vanish fer a while, understand?"

No, he _didn’t_ understand…not one bit. “But—”

"Here." Eric dug out his wallet and fished out several hundred dollar notes of Shinigami cash. "Take this. Go pack some things an’ get a hotel somewhere ou’ of tha city. Ditch yer cellphone an’ get ano’er one, too. Call me on it so I can put tha number in ma contacts under some bogus name. I’ll contact ya when it’s safe again. Dinnae call anyone else, nor trust ‘em."

"Safe from what?" Wide-eyed, Alan didn’t move to take the money. "I have a right to know what kind of danger you’re trying to protect me from!"

"I’ll explain it all later," insisted Eric. Alan gasped as he rolled up the bills and shoved them in his pants pocket without warning. "Jus’ trust me. Ya know I’d ne’er put ye in harm’s way."

"But it sounds like you’re putting _yourself_ in harms way…or you’re high on something.”

Eric smirked. “I’m totally clean an’ sober. Believe me, I wish it were o’erwise righ’ about now.”

The only thing more confusing than this situation was the term of endearment his partner had used on him when he’d put his hand on his knee. To make it even worse, Eric cupped the back of his head and closed in for a kiss. Alan was too stunned to do anything more than sit there like a ball-joint-doll at first, and then the Scotsman’s tongue slid past his parted lips into his mouth, and the brunet closed his eyes and whimpered. Alan grabbed hold of the other reaper’s blazer and returned the caresses of his tongue, feeling like liquid heat was spreading through his whole body.

It lasted for a few moments, until Alan was weak in the knees and blushing with passion. Eric pulled away and stared at him with love in his eyes that he’d kept concealed during their partnership, until now.

"Go on now, love," murmured the blond. "Do as I said an’ stay safe."

He unbuckled Alan’s seatbelt and he reached across him to open the door for him. Now thoroughly bewildered, the younger reaper slowly got out of the vehicle. He immediately regretted doing so when Eric shut and locked the door and then pulled out of the parking space to leave.

"Eric," called Alan helplessly. "Eric! Stop! I still don’t…"

The golden sportscar drove away, the color of it reminding Alan of its driver’s thick mane of hair. “…understand,” sighed Alan. He started to walk to his apartment. Thankfully his car was there, since Eric picked him up for work this morning. It was all so surreal, and Alan wondered who he could have angered enough to want him dead. He could only assume that was the case. Feeling more alone than ever, the brunet traversed the streets with his head down, his hand in his pocket cupping the roll of money given to him.

"Call me ‘sweetheart’, kiss me and drive off," mumbled Alan to himself. "You're...crazy…"

He couldn’t even bring himself to think up a derogatory word for his partner. Eric was truly afraid for him, and confused though he was, Alan _did_ trust him. He just hoped the man would eventually explain to him why he had to hide away.

* * *

 

A young woman with flowing brown hair and long legs walked into Dispatch Headquarters just after the sun went down. She wore tall red heels with ruby studded skulls on the back of them, a knee-length black skirt that split up the right side and a lacy red spaghetti-strap top with a gossamer black, long-sleeved shirt over it. Her red glasses complimented her footwear, also decorated with little skulls. She sauntered in with purpose in her green-gold eyes, and she blew a kiss to one of the security guards when he eyed her with appreciation in passing. Chuckling at the flustered look on the man’s face, she considered flirting further with him and seeing if she could get a gentleman’s company for the night.

Alas though…he was with _them_. He wouldn’t be working in this building for much longer—unless he did the sensible thing like she had. She went to the elevators and pulled out her phone as she got in to ascend to the upper floors. Checking the text she’d received earlier, she sighed.

"Oh Will…if only there could have been another way."

The news that he’d escaped and managed to vanish just an hour ago didn’t exactly sit wrong with her, though. Apparently Ronald Knox had been with him, and now both were at large. “Not the best start to a corporate take-over,” she murmured. But at least Spears was alive. If anyone was going to reap that man, it would be her.

The elevator stopped halfway to her destination, and a familiar, handsome Scottish reaper was waiting on the other side. “Goin’ up, Miss?” asked Eric with one of those flirty little smiles he couldn’t seem to help.

She giggled. He didn’t recognize her. “Why yes I am, Officer Slingby. Please, join me.”

"Dinnae mind if I do." He stepped inside and he started to select his floor, but stopped when he saw the button that was already lit up. "What do ya know; we’re goin’ tae tha same floor."

"Of course we are, darling." The woman’s smile altered, her straight white teeth drawing into shark-toothed points. The female form melted away to reveal the slim, graceful build of an androgynous one—physiologically male. The brown shade of hair brightened, the color seeming to slide off of it to be replaced by a vivid red shade not generally found in nature.

Eric smirked. “Up tae yer tricks again, aye?”

Grell laughed and leaned back against the support bar. “At least _they_ appreciate my tricks and allow me to put them to good use. It was so easy to get in close to my target and be rid of him. Where is Alan?”

Eric shrugged. “Went home early. Said he wasnae feelin’ too hot.”

"Hmm, poor thing. Well, he has his handsome lion to take care of him, doesn’t he?" Grell winked at the taller reaper. He genuinely liked Alan. Unlike certain _other_ agents, he never made him feel like a freak or a failure.

"It’s no’ like tha’ wi’ us," insisted Eric with a frown.

"I was merely stating a fact. I never said you were lovers—though I could hardly blame him if he ever decided to change that." Grell let his gaze travel over Eric’s pleasing form briefly. "How did your assignment go?"

"I took care of it," answered Eric shortly. "It was done by noon."

"You’re letting it get to you," observed Grell slyly. "Remember, it’s for the greater good. Your sweet little partner that you are so passionately denying having the hots for may survive the Thorns yet, if you just do what they ask of you. Isn’t that worth getting rid of a few pesky obstacles?"

Eric glanced at him. “Including William?”

Grell sighed. “William was to be detained, not killed…and you needn’t worry about that now. He escaped tonight with Ronnie.”

Eric frowned. “What d’ya mean, ‘escaped’? They weren’t s’posed tae move in on tha man ‘till tha other execs were replaced an’ disguised.”

Grell shrugged. “Well, it seems Willykins found a file he wasn’t meant to see, and when the stubborn man tried to decrypt it, the failsafe was set off and our friends were alerted to it. Unfortunately, the tear gas failed to subdue him in time to be collected. He and Ronnie broke one of the windows in his office and jumped out, if you can believe that!”

The Scotsman’s brows shot up. “That’s a helluva fall. Are ye tellin’ me they couldnae catch ‘em a’fore they could recover?”

"I don’t know exactly what happened after that," answered Grell. "All I was told is that the two of them managed to vanish and they’re trying to keep things quiet while they send covert agents looking for them."

"The boss fallin’ forty stories tae land in tha street is a thing people would notice," reasoned Eric.

"Not necessarily. He chose the window overlooking the alleyway, apparently."

"Ah." Eric nodded. "Smart. They coulda’ jumped o’er to tha next building an’ shimmied their way down, withou’ attractin’ a lot of attention."

Grell spread his hands. “Who knows? All I know is they might not be so willing to simply capture and imprison him now.”

"An’ how do ya know they really meant tae do tha’ in tha first place?"

Grell looked at him, slightly disconcerted. “Because those were my terms when I signed on.”

"Mm-hmm. And Ronnie? He was yer trainee."

"He was part of the deal," Grell insisted. "And so far they’ve given me no reason to believe they won’t keep their end of the bargain."

Eric looked at the glowing numbers over the door as they lit up with each floor. “Hope yer right abou’ tha’.”

Grell looked at his companion’s profile. “You do know they’re going to want to bring Alan into this, now that the ball is dropping.”

The Scotsman’s jaw tightened. “Aye. I know.”

* * *

 

He and Grell made it to their floor and Eric waited for the crimson reaper to step out before following. He kept his expression nonchalant and his stance loose as he strolled into their acting superior’s office with his companion to give his report. He closed the door behind him and locked it before nodding at the refined man of middle-aged appearance with silver streaks in his brown hair. “My target’s taken care of, Mr… _Anderson_.”

Lawrence Anderson threaded his fingers together atop his glass desk. “Well done. And you, Sutcliff?” He looked to Grell.

Grell flopped down in the chair across from the glass desk, crossing one leg over the other. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a nail file. Briefly he closed his eyes, before looking back up at the older reaper. “I did what was asked of me. You, however, promised that William would not be harmed and now rumor has it he and Ronald Knox are on the run. There is also a rather impressive price put on their heads.”

Blowing a bubble from the gum he was presently chewing, Grell began to file his nails. “I don’t take kindly to being double-crossed. If you want my cooperation and for me to continue doing your dirty work, _Anderson_ … I suggest you call off the bounty.”

"The bounty is for them to be brought in," assured Father Anderson. "I have no issues with putting word out with heavy emphasis on the ‘alive’ portion of that, however. Now, I think we should…excuse me Mr. Slingby, but there is no smoking allowed here."

Eric continued to light up his slim clove cigar with a shrug. He leaned over the elder’s desk and blew a smoke ring at him. “Yeah? But ya smoke yer pipe in here all th’ time, Pops…or didja forget tha’ little fact?”

Anderson compressed his lips with annoyance. “Don’t push it…either of you. Sutcliff, do stop popping that gum.”

Eric smirked as the redhead succinctly blew a big bubble and popped it. He stepped back and took another drag.

"Ya used tae give Grell bubble gum all th’ time too, sir. Yer memory needs some refreshers."

Grell giggled in his head as he watched the way Eric got under the older reaper’s skin. Deliberately, he blew an even larger bubble and popped it. “Don’t press me. I am here for one reason and one reason only. I don’t give a flying fuck about your cause. I just want to make sure my friends are safe. You keep them safe and I’ll do anything you ask of me.” He narrowed his eyes on Anderson. “Got it?”

Mr. Anderson cleared his throat. “At any rate, We need to discuss your partner. I believe it’s time for Humphries to be brought into it.”

Eric’s expression hardened slightly, but he relaxed again and shrugged. “Figured as much.”

"You stand the greatest chance of convincing him, Slingby. He looks up to you. It’s time for you to use that influence to bring him into the fold. What are his current whereabouts?"

Eric glanced out the window absently. “Went home, last I saw him. He said he wasnae feelin’ too hot, so he clocked ou’ an’ took a cab.”

"Then I suggest you pay him a visit and have a discussion with him, when you leave this building for the evening. You are both dismissed. Get out of my office."

Eric snorted at his use of words, and he gave Grell’s shoulder a warning squeeze when it looked as though the redhead might explode at that last bit. “Happy tae oblige. Come on, Grell. Smells like tuna in here, anyways.” 

Grell stood and glared at Lawrence, his top lip curled in disgust. “Don’t cross me, _Anderson_. I am warning you.”

He turned to Eric and nodded. “I agree it does reek of tuna in here… _dead_ tuna, and I don’t care to smell _rotten_ fish. Lets go. I need to get some fresh air.”

Eric nodded in agreement and opened the door for them both. When they were outside in the hall, he waved at the redhead. “See ya later, Grell. I’m goin’ tae check on Alan.”

As soon as he got to his own office floor, Eric went into said office and pulled out his phone to check for any messages he might have missed. He’d put his phone on silence before going to Anderson’s office, because he didn’t want to chance Alan calling him while in the presence of others and having to speak in code in front of them.

There was nothing. Nothing except a text giving him his next target. Eric sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of one of his windows, looking out at the darkening skyline.

~Come on, Al. Don’ make me have tae go o’er there before I know yer out an’ gone. Cannae risk ‘em followin’ me tae keep tabs an’ find ya still there.~

He kept his thoughts to himself, not even daring to speak them aloud in his own office. There were eyes and ears everywhere, at all times. He wasn’t even sure he could trust Grell not to spill the beans if he confided in him. The redhead wanted to keep William and Ronald alive, sure…but there was no guarantee he wouldn’t turn Alan in if it furthered his ambiguous goals. There was only one reaper alive out there that Eric knew he could trust completely now…and he’d betrayed him and their organization with his own actions.

* * *

 

He knew they were coming. He knew why. The whispers of the dead told him far more than the harsh voices of the living, and Undertaker was more than ready to give them a proper reception. He waited patiently in his coffin as he heard the door to his shop creak open, followed by the sound of the bell. Suppressing a snicker, he listened to the Dispatch agents speak to one another as they began to look around the mortuary.

"I’m not sure I believe it," one of them said. "If the ancient one can raise the dead, why hasn’t he done anything with them yet? What’s the purpose?"

"He’s a mad-man," answered another voice in disgust. "He doesn’t _need_ a reason.”

Someone else said something in German and another reaper answered in the same language. Undertaker frowned in thought at that. It wasn’t unheard of for London Dispatch to have agents transferred from other branches when they were really low on staff, but they generally only sent them out on reaping assignments if they couldn’t speak English. He heard someone speak in Finnish next, and his brows went up. _That_ language he could understand—though it had been so long since he’d spoken it he was somewhat rusty.

They wanted to recruit him. He’d been a bit off on his original assumption. He thought they were coming to try and arrest him, and perhaps they still intended to do that for the purpose of coercing him back into the fold, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. Either way, they weren’t welcome. He _was_ curious as to why they had two Germans and a Finn with them, though.

"Undertaker," called one of them in a British accent, "are you in here? My name is Loren Ferguson, and I am an officer of Dispatch. Please come out so that we may speak on an important matter."

The ancient reaper smiled. He had no intention of coming out to greet them, but he had some…friends…that would. He closed his eyes and worked his dark will, calling silently to his sleeping children closed up in the other coffins in the shop. The lids creaked open in unison, and one of the German reapers spat out a surprised inquiry.

“ _Was ist das_?”

The mortician muffled a snicker behind his sleeve as the sounds of dead throats moaning filled the room, and a scuffle broke out.

"It’s not stopping!" hollered the one named Ferguson.

_~Of course it’s not stopping, fool boy,~_ thought the mortician with amusement. _~The dead aren’t so easily reaped as th’ living.~_

Undertaker wished he had a peep-hole to see what was going on, but his imagination was painting a lovely picture from the ruckus alone. A gun went off—which actually startled him a bit because he’d never heard of a Dispatch agent using such a weapon as a reaping tool—and there were curses in three different languages. One of the reapers screamed in pain, and there was the sound of something heavy thumping on the floor.

Deciding it was time for the final act, Undertaker called forth some other little friends from the bowels of the catacombs beneath his shop. A hidden panel opened up in the wall of his basement, and hundreds of bats came out. They flew through the corridor leading into the shop from the back, the flap of their wings and shrieks almost deafening. The frantic voices of the uninvited reapers grew louder as they now had the flying mammals to deal with.

"It’s in my hair! Get it out!"

Undertaker couldn’t contain his laughter now, but the commotion happening outside his coffin was loud enough to cover it up.

“ _Unohda tätä_!” cried the Finnish reaper, obviously having his fill of the entire affair. His companions must have agreed with him even if they couldn’t understand his words. The sound of their footsteps hastily retreating came next, followed by the slam of the door.

Undertaker finally stepped out of his coffin and he banished his winged friends with a wave of his hands. They flocked together in an orderly fashion and flew back to where they came from. “Matilda,” warned the mortician when the blond female doll in the ragged wedding gown tried to shuffle out the door after the reapers. She stopped at the sound of her master’s voice and turned jerkily to regard him. Undertaker shook his head. “Not now, darlin’. That goes for the rest of you. We can’t have you seen on the streets now, can we?”

The dolls went still, complying with his command. Undertaker looked at the puddles of blood on his floor and he shrugged. He noticed that Matilda was missing an arm and he found it lying near a coffin, twitching. “Oh dear…look at what they did t’ your poor arm. Hrm, well that’s easily enough fixed. Matilda love, go into the lab and lie down on the table. Henry, spit that ear out of your mouth or swallow it. I thought I told you not to play with your food.”

The farmer doll that had evidently bitten off one of the agent’s ears chewed it sloppily and swallowed it. Undertaker nodded and he stepped aside to allow Matilda past. “Now all of you—except for her—retire to your coffins again, yeah?”

They moaned in accord and shuffled off to the individual caskets assigned to them. Undertaker walked to his front door, grabbing his hat off the rack near it and cramming it on before stepping outside to look for the intruders. He was just in time to see all five of them running through a portal one of them had created to the Shinigami realm. One of them had his hand clamped over the bloody hole where his ear had been.

Undertaker grinned mischievously and tipped his hat. “Toodles, gents. Feel free to drop by again any time.”

With a cackle of glee, the ancient reaper retreated back into his shop and locked the door.

* * *

-To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken Alan a lot longer than he’d expected to pack a few necessities when he returned to his small but warm and comfortable apartment. The main room and kitchen were tidy and neat, but his bedroom was rather messy. His bed was almost completely covered in stuffed animal toys. A collection that had grown quite a bit since he had been diagnosed with the Thorns of Death. Those closest to him would sometimes bring him stuffed animals of different kinds rather than flowers when he ended up in the hospital a little longer than a few hours. Among the collection was a red cat with a big red bow from Grell, an orange frog with a goofy smile from Ronald, and a soft brown rabbit from Eric.

As he dug through the casual clothes in a pile on his floor for clean underpants, Alan’s eyes had caught sight of the rabbit and he hesitated before grabbing it off his bed and shoving it into his bag, along with a few shirts and pants that were already packed.

He finished with finding a few outfits to get himself by, and he moved to the bathroom, grabbing his needed toiletries. All the while, his mind kept wandering back to Eric. How desperate he had been to get him out and safe…how he’d kissed him…

“What is that kiss supposed to mean?!” he huffed for the tenth time since he had parted from his partner. “…And why do I want him to do it again…” he muttered as an after thought, leaning against the wall.

He needed to pull himself together. He, apparently, needed to get out to someplace safe. He hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a small bottle of pills off the counter and dropped them into his bag. Important medication for his condition should he have a larger attack and couldn’t get to the hospital right away. The pills were no cure, but they helped, and he was grateful he’d just gotten the refill as he was down to only one or two in the bottle he kept in his pocket.

Certain he’d grabbed everything he needed, he left, locking his door behind him and walking down to his car. He tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat and took off, driving as he normally would and heading out of Reaper London.

As he put more distance between himself and his city home, he finally started to break down. He didn’t know what was happening, he didn’t understand why it was happening, and he was all alone. Taking a shaky breath, he slowed and pulled over to the side of the country road, putting his car in park as tears rolled down his cheeks and he smacked his steering wheel, the horn going off when he did so, which hid the rare curse that flew from his lips.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, sitting in his car with classical music playing low from his CD player. After nearly twenty minutes passed, he finally had calmed enough to continue running away from everything he ever knew.

When he came to a small town he’d never been to before, he stopped and did as Eric had asked. He bought a new phone with a simple plan and he took a moment to save his contacts to the new phone, before reluctantly holding his older phone over the trash bin out on the street. But he couldn’t toss it out. It was a work-issued phone, after all, and had a lot of important information on it. So, he turned it off and popped out the battery before hiding it under the seats in his car, grabbing something to eat, and continuing to drive to someplace that felt ‘safe’.

Alan arrived at a small motel well after dark, he got his room and stepped into the cold, uninviting room. The carpet was ripped and warn, the ugly yellow wall paper was faded and peeling off the walls, the bed was hard and lumpy, and it made him want to start crying again. He set his bag onto the bed and sat down, taking out his new, simple mobile phone. Eric’s number displayed on the screen. It was late, but Eric did ask him to call…and maybe he could get him to finally talk.

Gripping the phone tighter, Alan pressed the call button and held it to his ear, counting the number of rings he heard as he waited for Eric to answer. His heart beating nervously with each second that passed without answer.

What if Eric was in trouble, too? Why didn’t Eric just run away with him? What if that kiss had been their last goodbye?

“Eric…please…pick up…”

* * *

 

Eric finished zipping up his pants and he flushed the urinal. He went to the bathroom sink to wash his hands, and it was then that he felt the buzzing of his phone in his pocket.

"Ah, shite," he exclaimed, hastily wiping his hands on the dangling towel before digging the phone out. He didn’t recognize the number and his heart pounded as he quickly pressed the "answer" button.

"Slingby."

"Eric!" Alan’s sweet, soft voice breathed in relief over the speaker of the phone, "Oh thank Rhea. I was worried you wouldn’t pick up!"

Eric leaned against the tiled wall and looked at the ceiling, mouthing silent thanks to Lugh. “I was in th’ lavvy. Jus’ a minute, I’m headin’ tae mah car now.”

He moved as quickly as he could without appearing in too much of a rush, nodding at people as he sauntered through the lobby with feigned casualty. He made it into the garage and he spoke softly into the phone. “Still there?”

"Of course I am. You have explaining to do." Alan responded, standing up and pacing the small motel room, "Why aren’t I at home where it’s comfortable? Why didn’t you come with me? What was that kiss about, Slingby!"

"I’m getting righ’ on tha’," Eric said evasively, hoping Alan would get the clue that he wasn’t yet in a place where he could speak freely. "Aye. Yeah, I know. Shoulda seen his face. Tha’ was priceless."

He began to perspire as he pushed through the glass door to the parking lot, and every step to his car felt like an eternity.

_~Dun’ hang up, Alan…stay wi’ me.~_

"Eric, I’m worried for you. Please talk to me…what did I do? How long do I have to be out here? When can I come back home?" Alan gripped the phone and switched ears, "…Are you in danger?"

"Jus’ a minute," begged Eric, yanking his car keys out to unlock the door. He got into the vehicle, jammed the key in the ignition and held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he buckled his seatbelt. "A’right, now I can talk. I’m so sorry, Al. I couldnae talk abou’ it where I was at."

He checked for traffic and put the car in reverse, before backing out of his spot. “I’m goin’ tae yer place now. Please tell me yer no’ there anymore.”

He clicked his headlights on and started driving at moderate speed through the garage, keeping a sharp eye out for any signs of being followed as he made his way to the exit.

"Then talk to me, Eric. I have a right to know why I’m running. And don’t tell me you’ll explain later! Explain now." Alan bit his lip, frowning, "And why are you going to my apartment? Of course I’m not there; you told me to leave. I drove all day."

"Good," sighed Eric. He took a left as he pulled out of the garage and he began to drive to Alan’s apartment. "I’ve go’ tae at least give th’ appearance tha’ I’m checkin’ in on ya. When I don’ find ya there I’ll report ya missing. I wish I could explain everythin’ righ’ now, but I can’t. Ye’ll jus’ have tae trust me. I can tell ya more when we meet up later. I can grab anythin’ extra ye might need from yer place while I’m there, if ya want, an’ then I’ll make ma report an’ stop somewhere tae get ano’er phone tae keep in touch wi’ ye. They’re monitoring all incoming an’ outgoin’ numbers on our phones, so I cannae call ya back on this one, understand? Don’t call _anyone_ else.”

"Eric, that doesn’t help me at all! You said you’d tell me what’s going on. Who’s monitoring your phone? _Why_ are they? I thought I was in danger, but…are _you_? Why can’t I call anyone? Ronald? Grell? William? I trust them just as I trust you. Are they alright? When can you meet with me? I have so many questions and you aren’t answering any of them.”

"I’m sorry, Alan." Eric sped up, still keeping a wary eye out. "I promise I’ll tell ya more later. Fer now, jus’ tell me where yer at an’ what room yer in. I’ll try tae get there as soon as I can, an’ I’ll give ye a more secure number. Jus’ stay ou’ of sight and don’ come back downtown. Now where are ya?"

"I don’t know…" Alan shook his head, "I didn’t pay attention, I was just driving. I’m at some crappy little motel in the middle of literally nowhere. It’s like strait out of one of those horror films you sometimes drag me to. Room six."

Eric sighed. “So I’m lookin fer a random place from a horror film. Al, I cannae jus’ go checkin’ every sixth room in every run-down joint ou’side of town. Can ye at least recall wha’ highway ye were on when ya found it? Or at least wha’ direction yeh were headin’?”

"I wasn’t on a highway… The sign is faded. It said it’s the…something-springs motel."

Eric quickly searched his navigation device for it. He found a couple of places with “Springs” in it, but only one within a hundred kilometers. Alan couldn’t have driven further than that in the time since they’d last spoken, he reckoned. He chose that one and temporarily saved it for when he finished at his partner’s apartment.

"A’right, I’ve go’ a location," he said. "Jus’ hang tight, okay? I’ll bring ya somethin’ tae eat, too. Anythin’ else I can bring for ya?"

"…Depending on how long I wait for you, I may need a refill on my meds." Alan said, "I have a full bottle now, but we never know how often I need them. I’ll let you know if you call me before driving out." Alan paused, looking out the window of his hotel room, "Eric…why did you kiss me?"

The Scotsman flushed at the memory, and he was glad that his partner wasn’t there to witness the boyish reaction. It wasn’t like him a bit to be shy when he wanted someone, but now he was getting flustered. “Er…tha kiss? Um. Wull…it…felt like tha righ’ thing tae do at tha time? N-no, tha’s no’ it. I…Alan…”

He didn’t know how to say it, and even if he could manage to spit it out, he didn’t want to do it over the phone. If he was going to come clean with him, it was going to be to his face. “I’ve go’ tae go. Need tae concentrate on ma drivin’. I’ll call ye on tha new phone when I pick it up, so ye’ll have tha number if ya need me. Dun’ call me back at this number. If they see it more than once, they’ll assume its no’ a wrong number an’ start askin’ questions. Be there soon.”

He hung up then, wincing. “Good one, Eric…ya foockin’ eejit.” 

* * *

 

After stopping by Alan’s apartment and grabbing a couple of things he thought he might want, Eric phoned in his report and left to pick up a secure phone. He called Alan from it to let him know he was on his way, and he didn’t give him a chance to ask more questions. He was still kicking himself for that kiss and his un-cool attempt to explain it, and he didn’t want to be grilled about it over the phone. He was good at charming people…good at flirting…but with Alan all he seemed capable of doing was just showing him with actions, rather than words. The little brunet had a way of making his mouth dry and his heart thump in a way nobody else could.

He stopped off at one of their favorite burger joints to pick up a meal, before following the directions on the navigation system and driving out of city limits. When he pulled up to the motel, he made a face immediately. “Must be th’ place,” he muttered. He shook his head and chuckled as he gathered the food bag and tote bag from the apartment into his arms. “Cripes, Al…ya couldn’t have found a better spot tae bed down fer tha night?”

But it was really _his_ fault that his partner had just picked the first place he saw. Eric got out of the car and he approached the single level building, taking note of the flaking paint and splintering deck wrapping around it. He found door number six and he got the crazy feeling he should be looking over his shoulder for an axe. He juggled the goods in his arms and he knocked.

"Are ye in there, partner?"

The light was on, and the low mumble of voices from the TV could be heard, but Alan had fallen asleep an hour before after getting a shower. Luckily, the knock was loud enough to jolt him out of his slumber and he sat up, rubbing his eyes and fixing his glasses before getting up and padding over to the door, looking out the peephole before unlocking and opening the door.

"Eric." he said, cheeks flushing when he opened the door. He almost had the urge to greet him with a kiss—but he still didn’t understand their first kiss, and he didn’t want to risk making things more awkward. Instead, he stepped aside to let the man in.

"Hey," greeted Eric with a relieved smile. He walked in and he grimaced at the state of the place. "Good thing ye’ll only be here fer one night, eh? I brought yer pillow an’ that throw ya keep on th’ end of yer bed too, but they’re in tha car."

He walked over to the little round table by the air conditioning unit and he smirked when he saw how clean the surface was. He looked at Alan teasingly as he dropped the tote and put the food on the table. “I’m guessin’ housekeeping dinnae get it so pristine. Oh, an’ I picked up a refill on yer meds, too. Lucky ye’ve go’ me listed tae do it for ya. It’s in tha bag.”

He was babbling, trying to delay the inevitable questions and explaining as his partner shut the door and locked it.

"Thank you…" Alan said before turning and, unable to stop himself, he ran over to Eric and hugged him, "I was so worried about you, you idiot!" he said, his hand slipping into Eric’s blazer pocket and nabbing his keys, "And you aren’t leaving me again until you tell me everything!" he said, backing up, holding up the keys before slipping them into his own pocket with his own keys.

Taken by surprise over the unexpected hug and the subsequent key theft, Eric sputtered. “A-Alan…give those back!”

He started to advance on the brunet, and then he realized he’d have to shove his hand into his pocket and probably wrestle with him a bit to get his keys back. Given the way he was feeling right now, he was afraid he’d just end up shoving him against the wall and making out with him. He ran his fingers through the loose part of his hair and he sighed. He couldn’t look him in the eye. “A’right, Al. I can only tell ya so much, though. Th’ truth is, Dispatch has been compromised. Taken o’er by usurpers. A lo’ of agents have sided wi’ them, ‘cause they outnumber us. I…I’m one of ‘em.”

Alan stared at the Scotsman. His partner, and the person he trusted the most. Had he heard him right? Surely he hadn’t! There was no way Eric would betray Dispatch. He smiled nervously, “I’m sorry…you mean…you are working on trying to stop it, right? Not that you joined them?”

Eric glanced at him, his heart aching with shame. There were many things he could endure in life, but Alan’s disappointment wasn’t one of them. “I’m so sorry, Alan. They made me an offer I couldnae refuse.” He huffed a humorless laugh and turned away from him. “Actually, they give everyone an offer they cannae refuse. Join or be killed fer ‘treason’. It’s a massive takeo’er, an’ they’ve been doin’ it fer years…covertly. Tha hammer’s comin’ down soon, so I had tae get ya safely away from there, before they pulled ya in, too.”

He turned to look at him, and he swallowed. Just looking into those trusting, expressive eyes and seeing the disbelief, then betrayal in them made him want to reap himself. “Ya haven’t seen tha things I have, Al! Ye’ve no idea wha’ they’re capable of!”

Alan choked up, feeling a lump form in his throat, “…Then come with me—don’t go back. They can’t kill you if they can’t find you. That’s why you sent me away, right?” Alan walked over to Eric and reached up to cup his cheek, his thumb rubbing over the stubble that had started to grow on his chin since that morning. “Come with me.” he repeated in a whisper.

Eric placed his hand over the smaller one on his cheek, watching him with aching eyes. “I can’t. I wish I could, but I’m in too deep. Why do ya think I dinnae want ‘em gettin’ hold of yeh, too?”

He couldn’t tell him the real reason. He stood to loose too much if he backed out. He’d lose Alan for sure, without the cure to his condition. “Tha best I can do righ’ now is get ya out of their grasp an’ try tae learn more about tha power base behind all this. It’s happenin’ everywhere—no’ jus’ London Dispatch. They took o’er tha branches wi’ the largest concentration of agents first, then spread out tae th’ rest of us. We din’t even see ‘em comin’, they were so stealthy. They got me six months ago.”

He took Alan’s hand and he held it. “Ye can trust Spears an’ Knox, if ya happen tae find ‘em. No-one else. Understand, sweetheart?”

"Come with me—please!" Alan panicked, feeling his heart start to speed, "Please…we can get through this together… Eric…I…" he searched his partner’s sad eyes a moment before he took a turn to press their lips together, having to pop up onto his toes in order to surprise him with the soft kiss. They could protect each other, if they stayed together.

And it was then when he realized just how deeply he felt for his partner. “Eric…I love you, I think.”

It was like being punched in the solar plexus. Eric stared at him. “A-Alan…”

But that sweet, brief little kiss and those softly declared words broke him down. “Ye ‘think’?” he said, his passion rising. “Let’s find ou’ fer sure if ya can love a traitor.”

He put his arms around him and pulled him close, lowering his head to claim his lips. It wasn’t a soft, tender kiss, either. It was raw…desperate. He pillaged Alan’s mouth the way he’d been fantasizing to since before he got caught in the net of the usurpers. As soon as the brunet’s lips parted, Eric laid further claim with his tongue.

"Mmm," he purred, lifting the slighter frame of his partner. He felt like he was on fire.

Alan responded, wrapping his arms around Eric’s shoulders, and his legs around his waist, moaning a soft gasp into the kiss.

No, he didn’t ‘think’ he loved Eric. He _knew_ he loved him. And perhaps…if Eric knew just how much, he’d stay…he’d run away with him…they’d be selfish and create a new life for the two of them someplace safe.

He deepened the kiss, hoping to express his thoughts through their locked lips. Begging him to stay.

"Alan," gasped the Scotsman, turning to set him on the table behind him. He knocked the bags of food off the surface carelessly, his tongue stroking deeply as he cupped his hips. There wasn’t enough air…but he shouldn’t need to breathe. His heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his own ears, and his blood was roaring in his veins like an untamed river in the wilds.

He rubbed against his partner, needing the contact for the sake of feeling it, as much as for lust. He felt Alan’s answering hardness against his own and he groaned.

"Hhah!" Alan gasped for breath as he found himself pinned down to the table, his partner atop him, ravishing him. His body flushed hotter and he nipped playfully at Eric’s lower lip before their lips became locked once more. His hands running across the Scotsman’s shoulders and back, gripping the fabric of his blazer in a fit of lustful frustration. He’d never felt anything like it before, not even in his wildest dreams.

And yes, he had dreamed of being bedded by his partner, but he had always denied that it meant anything. This was real, though. This time, it was all too real. It only would have tricked him into thinking he was dreaming if they were in a more romantic setting. Under the stars, in a garden…a suite… Never would he dream of loosing his virginity to his partner in an old, run-down motel strait out of a horror film.

Yet, here they were, kissing so deeply that his head was spinning from lack of air, pawing at each other’s clothes…his pajama top loosening and falling off his shoulder. When had it become unbuttoned? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was Eric.

"Al," panted Eric, "Alan…"

What remained of rational thought warned him that he shouldn’t be doing this…not now…not here. Their first time together shouldn’t be in a flea-bitten motel. But this could also be their only chance to be together…their _final_ chance. He was a resourceful man. He carried something for this on him at all times, even though he hadn’t made use of it since he started having feelings for Alan.

Eric pulled the brunet’s pajama top off, rocking against him insinuatingly. His palm chafed his nipples as he stroked his lean, bared chest and he thrust his tongue hungrily into his mouth again. He was aching…swelling ‘till he thought he might burst. He’d known there was chemistry, but it felt like they’d ignited an inferno. He had to have him.

Alan hummed, moving his hands around to Eric’s chest to tug his already loose tie off him and pinch open the buttons of his shirt to reveal the larger male’s strong chest—lightly dusted with golden hair to match the lion’s mane on his head. He was grateful that he was in his pajamas—or half of them at this point. His normal slacks would be way too tight with his straining erection, which pitched a tent in his loose-fitting pajama pants. It saved him the discomfort that Eric probably was experiencing.

As the thought crossed his fogged mind, Alan let one hand wander down to the promising bulge in his partner’s pants. His cheeks flushed darker when he felt how it filled his hand.

The bold touch made Eric growl, and he slid his hand around to Alan’s back to support him as he cupped his bottom and picked him up again. The least he could do was bring him to the bed. Lip-locked with his partner, he staggered over to the bed with him and he laid him down on it. The mattress was old and the springs creaked under their weight, but it would do. He released Alan’s lips, his damp mouth worshiping his throat as he rubbed against the hand still fondling him. He was out of breath like he’d run a marathon, but he was charged…energized. He ran one hand over the brunet’s ribcage and down to his hip, and he lifted up a little to untie the drawstrings of his pajama pants.

Hooking his fingers into the waistline of the garment, he yanked them down. He backed off so that he could strip them from him, and he took a moment to feast his eyes on Alan’s fair, slim body before covering it again with his own. The Scotsman growled again as he struggled to get his blazer off.

"Want ye," he moaned, "Ah, mah sweet Alan…I’ve got tae have ya. ‘M sorry it’s no’ in a better setting than this."

"Next time…we can have each other…under the stars…or…some other romantic setting," Alan panted, shivering as the air-conditioned chill touched his heated skin. "Here, let me help…" he pushed himself up and helped Eric out of his blazer and shirt, then helped with his belt, eager to see all of the man. He always thought he’d be embarrassed being so exposed before Eric’s gaze, but it hardly registered to him that he was sitting naked on the bed as he helped even the odds by taking the Scotsman’s belt.

Eric pushed his boots off, and he nearly forgot to get what he needed out of his blazer, and he hastily knelt down and dug through it for the gel packs he kept in an inner pocket. He was a little embarrassed to have such convenient items on him, suddenly realizing what it must look like.

"I swear I wasn’t plannin’ this," he said as he dropped the gels onto the bed and kissed his partner again. "Part o’ me clung tae th’ fantasy tha’ maybe someday…but I dinnae come here fer…I mean…tha’s no’ why I came, sweetheart."

Breathing heavily, he stood between Alan’s parted thighs in only his pants. He wanted to finish what they started more than anything, but needing him to understand he didn’t meet him out here with the intention of shagging him.

Alan eyed the packets. He had to admit when he first saw what Eric was retrieving from his pockets, he wondered just how often the man used such things if he carried them with him.

"You…don’t have any other lovers I don’t know about…do you?" he asked carefully. He reached up to trace the tattoo of the Celtic cross on the blond’s right shoulder, before moving on to do the same to the knotwork encircling his left bicep. He wasn’t usually a fan of ink, but he had to make an exception for this golden-haired death god. Eric’s tattoos were quite alluring and they suited him perfectly.

"No," answered the Scotsman immediately. "I havnae been on a date since…well, since ya passed yer entry exam an’ became mah partner."

He shrugged, again faintly embarrassed. “Think ya ruined me fer others, even though we ne’er so much as kissed before today.”

He looked him in the eyes and he took a steadying breath. “I’m pretty awful at talking abou’ my feelings. Tha’s why I kissed ya in th’ car. It was tha only way I could…express it. If ye were jus’ a conquest, I’d have no trouble chattin’ ya up. Ya could ask anyone tha’ used tae party wi’ me, back in the day before ye showed up.”

"Oh, I know all about your reputation…that’s why I had to ask…I don’t want to share you—to be the ‘other guy’." Alan said, looking back up at Eric. "I don’t care if you have had others in your bed before—just if you do now."

Eric rubbed the brunet’s naked shoulders slowly, and he bent over to kiss him softly on the lips. “There’s been no-one else, since I started tae realize I was falling for ya. I wouldnae have ano’er…’specially now.”

His lips brushed against Alan’s as he said it, and even that simple contact started to heat him up again. His package started to strain against its confined space and he grunted uncomfortably. “See wha’ ya do tae me, wi’out even trying?”

He took Alan’s hand and guided it back to the offending area, smirking at him. With his free hand, he reached between the brunet’s thighs and he gripped his naked, swollen shaft to gently stroke it.

"You’ll—ah!" Alan let out an excited gasp of pleasure, which interrupted his comment. His head fell back and his hips rolled forward into the sensual touch. "Y-You’ll be my first," he admitted once he found his voice once more, "As a student, I had been too busy to think about relationships…then I tried lying to myself about wanting one—wanting you."

He snapped open the buttons on Eric’s slacks and opened the zipper, slowly.

Eric’s breathing rhythm picked up again, as did his pulse. He sighed with relief as the zipper came down and the trousers slowly parted, easing the pressure on his stiffened groin. He smiled at Alan and he let go of his wrist to trace his high, fine cheekbones with calloused fingertips. “I prolly shouldn’t be so happy tae hear I’ll be yer first. Guess tha’ makes me a hypocrite, aye?”

Alan shook his head, “They aren’t here with you, I am.” he pushed his bangs out of his eyes to get a better look at Eric, “I’m your special someone right now—and hopefully for a long time, if not until the end. This is my first time…but this is also _our_ first time. That’s what matters to me.” Before Eric could respond, he pressed their lips back together to resume their kissing.

A rumbling purr rose in the Scotsman’s throat as their tongues again met and caressed. He kept stroking the brunet’s flushed arousal as he combed his fingers through his soft, fine hair and he started pushing down on his trousers, eager to be out of them and the underwear restricting his package.

"Feels like I’m gonna burst," he said breathlessly, breaking the kiss for a moment to speak. He took his hand out of Alan’s hair and he started to shove his trousers down, making sure he didn’t cease or slow his practiced fondling of his partner’s cock.

"I…I feel….fuzzy…" Alan moaned against his lips, "My head is pleasantly dizzy…I want you, Eric."

Wanting to please Eric in return, he reached down, copying how Eric’s hand stroked his member, gripping the thick, long shaft firmly as his hand discovered just how well-endowed the Scotsman was.

"…Will it fit?" he gasped without thinking, his bright eyes wide.

Eric huffed a breathless laugh, even more in love with this sweet young reaper than before over those innocent comments. “Aye, it’ll fit, sweetheart,” he promised. He sobered at the pleasure of Alan’s touch, and he kicked his pants off and cupped the brunet’s bottom with his now free hand, scooting him back on the mattress so that he could ease him onto his back.

"I’ve jus’ got tae take is slow wi’ ya. I’ll be gentle."

He climbed carefully onto the creaky, lumpy bed with him, straddling one of Alan’s legs with his knees and bracing himself with his free arm as he hovered over him. He kissed his neck again, licking and sucking the tender skin, speaking softly to him in Gaelic without thought of it.

_"Tha mi sa’ ghaol leat,"_ he murmured, _"Bidh gaol agam ort fad mo bheatha, thusa ‘s gun duine eile,_ Alan.”

"I still don’t understand you…" Alan hummed, having had some difficulty learning the tongue. a few languages had been easy for him to learn, Gaelic…not so much. "But I hope it’s as romantic as it sounds."   

Eric chuckled, his lips moving along Alan’s throat, and down his chest. “Sorry…lost mah senses an dinnae even realize I wasnae speakin’ English.”

He kissed his way back up, traced Alan’s lips with his tongue and offered a translation. “I said I’m in love wi’ ya. I’ll love ye mah whole life; an’ no other.”

Alan felt his cheeks heat as they turned red. He reached up, running his fingers over Eric’s lips and chin. “I want you to be my partner, Eric—not just my work partner…”

Eric felt a swift stab of emotion so strong it was almost pain. “Fuck, Alan…I’m yers; even if I don’t deserve ya.”

He kissed him hard, and he gently pumped into his stroking hand as he returned the favor. He fondled the tip of Alan’s cock, rubbing in gentle circles to make it buck and twitch in his hand.

Alan smiled gently up at the older reaper, small gasps being drawn from him. “We don’t have to worry about that right now…tonight…tonight we can be selfish…” he leaned up and kissed his jaw and ear before whispering, “Teach me how to please you, tonight.”

"How ‘bout if I show ya, instead?" suggested Eric with a rogue-ish grin, his body trembling helplessly in reaction to Alan’s loving, eager words. He stopped fondling him and he pushed his knees between Alan’s thighs, spreading them and stretching out on top of him. He chuckled at the startled look on Alan’s face.

"Relax, sweetheart. I’m jus’ goin’ tae show ya wha’ I like. Then yeh can show me th’ same, aye?"

Alan nodded and bit his lip, “I don’t know what I like yet—other than you so…we’ll take this slow at first.” he let his eyes wander down along Eric’s built form, “Rhea, You’re gorgeous.” he ran his fingers over Eric’s abs.

Eric’s muscles instinctively tightened at the touch, his breath catching. “I dinnae think ye need many lessons,” he gasped. Alan seemed to just…synch with him. He’d already managed to discover two of his weaknesses. Earlobes, abs…and…

Eric smiled mischievously, dipping his head to kiss the brunet’s chest. This was the best part…the one that would allow him to pleasure Alan in a way he suspected he’d never been pleasured before. He slowly circled one nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, all the while running one hand over Alan’s ribcage. He braced his weight on the other arm to balance himself as he gave the other nipple the same treatment, until they were both wet and pebbled. Alan’s torso was smooth and hairless, lithe and irresistible to him.

"Love yer body, Alan," breathed Eric as he began scooting down further, until he was bent over the bedside and kissing his ribs.

Eyes closed, Alan breathed in with a moan, shifting against the lumpy mattress under him before propping himself up and looking down at Eric. Watching Eric press his lips to his pale skin, Evidence of his Thorns just below the surface with vine-like lines discoloring his flesh. Eric’s tan skin looked good pressed to his, and he wanted to feel it more.

Alan reached out, running his fingers through Eric’s blond locks and down his neck to his shoulders.

"Mm, feels nice," purred the Scotsman as his smaller companion’s fingertips skimmed over his back.

He traced Alan’s navel with his tongue, cupping his hip. He saw the evidence of his curse; subtle little veins beneath the surface of the soft, fragile skin…but they reminded him more of roots; or the branches of a tree. It was terrible yet beautiful, and he ached inside again at the thought of losing this dear, sweet reaper to such an unfair fate. He kissed the marks of the thorns as if to sooth a hurt, pushing Alan’s thighs apart and rubbing his chin against the springy thatch of hair framing his groin. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips against the root of his arousal, running his hands over his hips and up his thighs.

"Sae sweet," he murmured as he cupped the back of Alan’s knees in his hands, gently urging him to spread his thighs further and bend his legs back. He kissed the inside of the brunet’s left thigh, and then he licked with steady swipes of his tongue. Steadily making his way towards the source of Alan’s arousal, he glanced up from between his spread thighs to watch his expressions.

"Yer beautiful."

"Well, you are driving this ‘beauty’ crazy doing that down there!" Alan gasped, shivering in pleasure, "I want to, too…" he whispered, tempting Eric back up to a kiss, then pressing soft kisses down his neck and shoulders, his hands rubbing up and down along Eric’s arms.

"Want tae what, eh?" Eric teased, reveling in every touch and kiss as if it would be his last. He allowed the curious brunet to explore his body as he returned his kisses, and he reached out for one of the lubricant packs. He sucked on Alan’s earlobe and he bumped his erection against his, almost playfully.

Alan climbed into Eric’s lap, sucking lightly on his shoulder, hardly aware of Eric’s fiddling with the packets. “I want to touch you, too…” he explained breathlessly, “I want to feel you… And I probably sound so corny right now…” he flushed.

"No," gasped the larger reaper, "No’ at all. Yer passionate. I love it."

Eric’s hands clamped onto Alan’s bare ass with a slight smacking sound, and he rocked back on his heels, positioning his partner in his arms. He ravished his mouth, hungry for something he’d never before put a name to. He’d had his dates, his dalliances…but this was a different thing entirely from what he was used to. He let go of Alan’s bottom and he broke open one of the gel packs. All he could think of was how much he wanted to be joined with this reaper. He couldn’t think of the horror of what had happened to their organization, or what he’d done for the sake of keeping Alan alive. No, he didn’t care about any of that right now. All that mattered to him was the sweetly loving, gasping young reaper in his arms.

"Alan," he murmured, rocking forward again to lay his companion onto his back. "Do ye trust me?"

"More than anyone…" Alan moaned with a nod. his eyes hooded and fogged with passion. No one else had saved him nearly as many times, fretted over each attack he’d suffered. no one else had held him though the night after he’d found out about his illness. Eric had been there for him from the beginning. Eric was special…he didn’t know or care when he’d begun to have feelings for the Scotsman, but he had, and he couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Eric broke open the gel pack in his hand, and he murmured a swift apology for the chill as he squirted it over Alan’s exposed entrance. He tossed it up and he rubbed over the area with two fingers, kissing the smaller reaper desperately as he smoothed the lubricant over the flesh surrounding his goal. He coated his fingers with it liberally before pressing in lightly with the tip of his first finger.

"Yer my conscience, Alan," he breathed as he eased it in, watching his face. "All I live fer. My heart."

"It’s cold!" Alan gasped when the lube touched his tight entrance, his legs twitching. But then Eric’s fingers pressed in and he completely forgot about the temperature. His head dropped back and body stiffened, "Oh—Styx!" he gasped, feeling a hint of pain.

"Easy," soothed Eric.

It was so hard to keep his lust in check, but this was the one being alive he would never, ever hurt. He hovered over him as he carefully pushed in further, kissing Alan’s flushed face and nuzzling the soft brown hair away from his right ear. “Relax fer me, sweetheart. It’ll get better. I promise.”

"A finger barely fits…You’re huge…won’t fit…" Alan gasped, gripping Eric’s shoulders.

"I’m no’ tha’ big," protested Eric with a pained chuckle. "Relax fer me…ah, wait."

He knew just what to do. He grinned, and he started to inch down the smaller reaper’s body. “I’ll make it good fer ya, Alan,” he promised huskily. He just needed to get him loosened up.

"It’s a’right, love," he whispered, kissing his way down Alan’s squirming body again. "I want this tae be as won’erful fer ya as I know it’s going tae be fer me."

He reached Alan’s erection—softening slightly from the discomfort of the breach—and he ran his tongue over the underside, curling the edges of it around the shape of his staff. He licked from root to tip, then back down. He pushed his finger deeper when he felt his partner relax more around it, and he nuzzled the sack beneath the shaft, nosing it gently before stroking his tongue over it.

"Let go, sweetheart," he purred between licks.

Alan closed his eyes, relaxing more as he took a few deep breaths. “Mmmh…Eric…That feels…better…” he breathed, member twitching against Eric’s tongue as it started to return to hardness. “Should…I do anything?” he asked, peeking down at his partner—no, not partner. Eric was his lover now, wasn’t he? The thought made his stomach feel fluttery.

"Jus’ let me love ya," answered the older reaper softly.

He licked his way back up Alan’s shaft, sucking the tip before closing his lips over it. He withdrew his finger at the same time, and he stroked his balls with the pad of his thumb as he pushed in again. He took Alan deeper into his mouth as he began to pump his finger, all the while stroking around his sack and the entrance with his thumb.

This was his Alan. He would never let his urges get the better of him. He’d never hurt him, and he would never allow anyone else to hurt him, either. Eric licked the salty dew from the tip of the swollen head of Alan’s arousal, flicking his tongue against the little slit with a purr.

Alan took another deep breath, relaxing and letting Eric do as he wished, earning little moans from his soft lips. “Eric….” The brunet parted his legs more, the passionate buzz taking over his mind once again as the world fell away, leaving just the two of them. He hardly even noticed the lumpiness of the old mattress anymore.

Eric bobbed his head over the length of Alan’s sex, curling his tongue against the underside as he sucked on it. He fondled his tight balls as he carefully eased a second finger into his resisting passage. Soon…soon he’d be ready for him, but he had to take his time. He had to make it a good experience for him. He bobbed his head faster, sucking a little harder on the stiff length of his partner’s arousal. As his fist two fingers thrust inside of Alan’s tight heat, his thumb massaged his sack in gentle circles and his bottom two fingers stroked around the impaled entrance.

Again, Alan stiffened as a first reaction, but slowly relaxed, Eric’s tongue and lips doing well to distract him from the uncomfortable, and slightly painful stretch until he was worked loose enough not to be bothered by it.

"Eric—Eric Ahh!" Alan began to squirm, finding it difficult to keep still as such talented fingers and lips pleasured him.

Eric’s heart pounded fast and fierce as the smaller reaper’s cries reached his ears. He kept going, sucking and licking as he worked to relax him. Not yet…not yet. He carefully slipped a third finger in, and he rubbed Alan’s tensing hip with tender care as he gripped the base of his shaft. The brunet began to squirm uncontrollably beneath him and Eric growled softly, the vibrations of his throat massaging him further.

He finally released Alan’s shaft with a wet pop, and he licked his lips as he bowed over him. “I think yer ready, sweetheart.”

He broke open another packet and he grabbed Alan’s left hand to squirt the gel into it.

"Rub it on me, Alan. I’m more than ready fer ya."

Alan shivered, He had gotten so close…He had been about to warn Eric when he pulled back, and his member twitched in sexual frustration. He wouldn’t last long once Eric took him all the way…he knew that much. After all, he was a man and he did touch himself at times. He knew his limits.

Alan pushed the thoughts aside and had Eric lay back against the headboard before he crouched between his legs, bending over to kiss the tip on the man’s straining sex before taking it in his slick hand, rubbing the lube over his flesh.

"Oh…lover…feels so good," gasped Eric. He swallowed, reining in his instincts. No, he wouldn’t blow his load in Alan’s hand. Lugh, it felt heavenly, though…to be handled this way, to see the love shining in Alan’s eyes as his gaze switched between Eric’s cock and his face.

_~He looks at me th’ way I look at him. Like a sunrise.~_

"Alan…stop," He finally groaned, his erection twitching eagerly. He closed the distance between their mouths and he kissed Alan’s soft, eager lips. "Ye’ll make me cum a’fore we can join, sweetheart."

"Well you nearly did that to me!" Alan pointed out, poking his bare chest before he found himself on his back and under the blond—again. "You had me so-so close…" he hummed, sucking on his lips.

"Close now," soothed Eric, entering him again for the final stretch, his fingers thrusting a little harder…a little deeper. He rubbed his aching shaft against Alan’s leg. "In fact, I’d better watch tha’. I could spoil meself on ye if I’m no’ careful."

"E-Eric…I—" Without warning, the flushed young reaper reached forward, hooking his hands behind Eric’s neck and pulled him down against his lips, his legs wrapping around his waist almost desperately. "Mmmmh~"

The desperate quality in Alan’s voice made Eric want to just drop on top of him and pound into him. He somehow managed to control his libido, but just barely.

"Want me inside of ya, sweetheart?" He rubbed against Alan, the thick length of his arousal sliding against the younger man’s.

"D-don’t say it like that! Sounds dirty…" Alan gasped, unable to flush any redder, "…but yes…I want to feel you…there."

Eric tried hard not to laugh. “Then I s’pose ‘Dirty Eric’s’ abou’ tae clam tha fertile soils of Alan-land.”

Alan twisted and hid his face in Eric’s shoulder, “Eriiiic!”

The Scotsman’s composure broke, and he couldn’t help the quake of laughter. He nudged Alan’s face off his shoulder and he balanced on one arm so that he could up his chin. Still smiling, he looked him in the eye.

"Nothin’ ‘dirty’ abou’ anythin’ were’ goin’ tae do together, sweetheart…but if ya want tae stop, I will."

"No, don’t stop," Alan murmured, "we don’t need comparisons like that before we do this, though…It’s not romantic."

Eric didn’t try to crack further jokes or talk anymore. He was aching for him…yearning. Alan’s eyes were closed, his body tense as if expecting pain. It calmed Eric’s lust, and he kissed his lips softly. “N’ more ‘dirty talk’, sweetheart. Jus’ feelings.”

He reached down to position himself, and he butted gently against the slick entrance. “Need ya t’ relax fer me, Alan. Look at me. I love ya.”

Alan opened his eyes and bit his lip. glancing down at how Eric was positioned, ready to enter him. “Go slowly.” he requested, looking back up at Eric, “At least at first.”

Eric’s expression softened. Alan truly was virginal. “I won’ hurt ye, if I can help it. Jus’ look at me. Look into my eyes, Alan.”

He carefully pressed against Alan’s tight entrance. “I’m yers, Al. S’okay.”

The brunet felt his heart speed up with excitement and he gave a small nod, taking Eric’s hand in his before meeting his green-gold gaze, “I’m ready…I’m ready to go all the way with you, Eric.”

"Ah, Lugh help me," moaned Eric, and he nudged in. There was resistance, of course, so he only went in as far as the tip. He kissed Alan as the brunet’s eyes went wide with a blend of pain and wonderment, and he held himself within him. He felt so good…so tight. Eric nuzzled his cheek, murmuring absent-minded endearments in his ear as he waited for the resistance to ease up.

Alan gasped, clinging to Eric and fighting the sudden urge to swear. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he took a deep breath as he waited to adjust. Slowly, he began to relax, and he opened his eyes to look at the Scotsman. “Eric…”

"Better now?" guessed the blond. He eased in a bit deeper, watching his partner’s expressions carefully. Gods, he was so snug. He didn’t think he’d ever been with someone this tight before, and he had to take a deep breath himself as his shaft throbbed in reaction to it. He placed soft, gentle kisses on the brunet’s face, stopping his advance again.

"W-was." He gasped, hugging Eric tighter again, "Sweet Rhea, Eric!" Alan grit his teeth and his hands pawed at his lover’s back.

Eric looked down at him tenderly, on the verge of backing off. He’d always been proud of his endowments before, but now he wished he were a bit smaller. Causing pain to the one he loved made him feel terrible, even as his body sang with delight over the union.

"I…I’m sorry," he gasped. "I’m tryin’ tae be as gentle as I can wi’ ya, lover. If ye cannae bear it, I can pull back out."

"I—I know…" He met Eric’s gaze, "I’m okay…just…getting used to you… It’s…it’s nice once I get used to it."

Eric relaxed, and he smiled at him. “I’m glad it’s easin’ up fer ya. This is no fun fer me if ya cannae enjoy it too.” He kissed him slowly and sensually, slipping his tongue past his lips to caress his. He drove his length deeper, until it was a little over halfway inside of Alan. His breath caught at the clenching around him and he went still again, waiting for it to ease up again. Once it did, he kept going, filling his companion with excruciating slowness and letting him feel every hard inch of him.

Eric broke the kiss and he rested his forehead on Alan’s shoulder, panting softly. It was amazing…heavenly, even. “Ah, sweetheart…ya fit me like ye were made fer me…”

As Alan’s face softened from a pained look to one of discomfort, he finally responded. “I’m wondering what the first two men to try this were thinking….and why they lasted long enough to know it feels good and was a good idea…” he gave Eric a small smile.

Eric kissed his nose and smiled back. “Jus’ wait ‘till we _really_ get started, Al. So much pleasure tae be had, once ya finish adjusting.”

He braced himself on one arm so that he wouldn’t put his full weight on him, and he ran his other hand over Alan’s chest, stomach and ribs. He kissed him again, swirling his tongue in his mouth as he fondled a nipple. He slid his hand down and he lifted up a little so that he could stroke Alan’s cock, once again trying to distract him from the discomfort with pleasure.

"But still…can you imagine the first guy to look at his boyfriend and say ‘maybe I can stick it in you down there’?" He laughed, "I would have never thought of such a thing…"

Eric laughed too, amazed that his partner could come up with such a thing. “I ne’er really thought of it like tha’ before. Maybe they saw some animals doin’ it an’ figured they were on tae somethin’, I dunno. Yer such a silly little thing, love. At least I know ye mus’ be feelin’ better, if ye can crack jokes.”

Alan chuckled and cupped Eric’s cheek, “Thank you for giving me time to adjust to you.” he whispered before covering his lips with his own.

Eric traced the brunet’s lips with his tongue, relieved that he was no longer in pain. He withdrew slowly and gave a gentle, experimental push, sliding in shallowly before pulling out again, only to drive his cock back in to the hilt. “Unh…oh, tha’s wonderful,” he groaned, in love with the feel of it.

“ _Ahhn_!” Alan couldn’t help but cry out in surprised pleasure, “Oh sweet Heaven!” Heart thumping against his ribs, Alan looked up at Eric, his eyes pleading with him to do it again. The slow pain had been worth it, he could already tell.

Eric obliged him, guessing that this time, his cry had been one of pleasure instead of discomfort. His breath shivered on his lips as he pumped again, and again after that. Gently. That was the key to making it good for his inexperienced lover. He knew how easily he could hurt Alan by accident if he allowed himself to get rough with him. He’d done it before in the past to others, when he was still too green to know how to gauge his partner’s reactions.

"Blessed saints, ya feel sae good," he moaned, his brows furrowing over intense, lusty eyes. He left off touching Alan to yank his glasses off before they could fall off his face and land on Alan’s. He put them aside on the nightstand, and then he eased his companion’s off as well and set them beside them. He kissed him deeply and he began a slow, careful rhythm. In to the hilt, out to the tip, a couple of shallow thrusts, then deep again. He knew how to vary his thrusts and keep his partner off-guard.

More little sounds of pleasure and surprise left the brunet’s lips, his body pressing itself into Eric’s movements. “Eric! Oh—Eric!” he gasped into a broad shoulder, his body working up a sweat. His fingers moved over his partner’s back, pressing in where the tattoos of the two Celtic dragons facing one another decorated the strong muscles on either side of his spine.

The sweet sound of his love calling his name like that thrilled him, and Eric growled softly and picked up the pace a bit. “Aye…yer mine, Alan…an’ I’m yers. Ahh…ohh!”

He closed his eyes, perspiration now beading on his face as the heat of passion made his body sing. He’d been with experienced lovers, fierce ones, timid ones…he’d had all types in his life as a reaper, but never had any of them made him feel like this. He cupped Alan’s pale hip and he urged him to try moving a little himself; not only to give him confidence but also to encourage him to find the angle that felt best for him.

Alan responded by tilting his hips up, his mouth dropping open as Eric rubbed up against and hit his inner walls at a new angle. He began to move, his wiggling becoming uncontrollable until he stiffened, crying out suddenly, his voice more like a scream as Eric found his sweet spot, sending, somehow, more intense waves of pleasure through his body.

Eric smiled in triumph at the unrestrained scream of pleasure. This was exactly what he’d been aiming for. Now that he knew where to aim his thrusts, he propped Alan’s legs up on his shoulders and he sat up, folding his own parted legs beneath him. He cupped the brunet’s hips to keep his pelvis at that precise angle and he began to pump rapidly, bumping unerringly against that magic spot each time.

“‘S a’right, lover,” he panted when Alan looked almost panicked at the intensity of the sensations. He was so beautiful to him, flushed and sweaty, his eyes wide and soft with surrender. He intended to make this last for as long as he could keep going. One climax wasn’t good enough for this special, gentle reaper. He wanted to give him several, if he could.

Alan’s toes curled as he was driven crazy by how Eric trust into his sensitive spot over and over again, each time driving screams of pleasure from his lips. He couldn’t speak, even to warn Eric that he was about to—and then it happened. his pleasure bursting from him and coating, not only his, but Eric’s abs in the process. His body curled up against Eric’s and his cry was muffled into the man’s shoulder.

Yet Eric didn’t slow, keeping Alan excited with continued thrusts to make him cry out. It was music to Eric’s ears, and he caressed his partner’s sweating, writhing body lovingly. He felt himself getting dangerously close to coming, and he slowed his rhythm and eased Alan’s legs off his shoulders. Stretching out on top of him, he kissed Alan languidly, grunting as he fought his impending climax back. His skin slid against the smaller reaper’s, slick with Alan’s release. He didn’t care about the mess—in fact, he was more than pleased to have provoked so much of it.

"Sae much more tae come, Alan," he promised breathlessly, huskily. He changed to gentle, slow, deep thrusts, kissing the brunet’s sweaty face and lips as he waited for his body to calm down a bit.

Eric kept at it for nearly an hour, bringing his lover to climax twice more before he finally couldn’t hold back any longer. He bowed over Alan, his body tensing and his lips parting on a long, rough groan as he delved deep and bucked inside of him. It was such a relief…such a heavenly feeling. He thought he might never stop coming, and when he did, he was trembling like a newborn.

"A-Alan," he gasped, pressing his sweaty forehead against his lover’s.

Alan was panting, trembling, even as he relaxed on the bed. He couldn’t speak. his voice was lost to him, so instead, he weakly pulled the Scotsman down into a tired but loving kiss. He felt sticky, and knew he’d need another shower, but he didn’t care at the moment, wanting to just curl up in his lover’s arms until morning.

Eric kissed him back, waiting to catch his breath again before carefully easing his softening length out of his partner’s body. He rolled off of him onto his side, and he pulled him into his embrace. Stroking Alan’s back, he kissed his forehead and he waited for his heart to stop thundering in his chest. He could hardly believe it; he’d just made love to the reaper he’d betrayed his friends and organization to save. He never expected this to happen, and as they lay there enjoying the afterglow, the sad reality that he couldn’t stay with him began to return to him.

But how could he leave him again, after that? How could he go back to the corrupted organization, knowing he’d left Alan out there to hide on his own? Maybe if he had some idea of where Spears and Knox might be, he could unite the three of them so that Al wouldn’t have to be alone. He closed his eyes, his thoughts buzzing around in his head as he struggled between personal desire and what he knew had to be done.

"I love ya, Alan," he murmured, kissing the other reaper’s soft brown hair and holding him closer. "No matter wha’ happens, tha’ much will ne’er change."

Alan hummed a noise that sounded like ‘I love you, too’, his voice tired from all the screams, cries, and moans. He curled up against Eric’s sweaty body, resting his cheek on his shoulder, slowly starting to drift to sleep as the excitement of their lovemaking faded.

* * *

 

Eric slept until the sun had just begun to rise. He kept hearing a muffled buzzing sound, and being a light sleeper, it woke him up. Alan was still lying halfway on top of him and he carefully eased out from under him to get up. Realizing that the buzzing was coming from his discarded blazer, Eric padded over to it and picked it up to fish his work phone out of the pocket. He didn’t answer it, but he saw the ID of which office it was coming from and he closed his eyes, whispering a curse beneath his breath.

They wanted to know if he’d located Alan yet. He couldn’t stay here, no matter how much he wanted to. Doing so would only endanger his partner and he was still adamant that Alan get as far away from reaper London as possible. He looked over at his sleeping lover, his heart in his eyes as he gazed upon him. He put his phone back into his blazer and he walked softly over to the bed, looking down at Alan as the thin shafts of early morning sunlight peeked through the window curtains and fell on his slumbering form. Eric reached out to caress Alan’s sleeping face with the back of his knuckles, and he bent over to plant one last, tender kiss on his cheek.

_~I have no choice, sweetheart. Please, take care o’ yerself an’ try tae forgive me.~_

With a heavy sigh, the Scotsman quietly cleaned himself up a bit in the bathroom, got dressed, and snuck out the door. He collected the pillow and blanket he’d brought from Alan’s apartment out of his car and he brought them in and set them down by the door, before leaving a note behind for him.

_"Alan,_

_I had to go back to Dispatch. They’ll start looking for me if I don’t show up for work, and I can’t risk leading them to you. I’ll contact you when I can. You should get out of the Shinigami realm altogether for now…find a place in the mortal realm to lay low. I’ll find a way to keep getting your meds to you. I hate to leave you alone and if there were any way I could be with you right now, I would. I don’t want you to be alone, my heart. I hope that somehow, we’ll see brighter days in the future and the need for hiding will end. Until then, know that I love you and everything I do is for you. Find William and Ronald, if you can. Them you can trust. Be safe. Survive. Wait for me._

_Love,_

_Eric”_

* * *

 

Alan was usually an early riser, but the activities of the night before threw off his sleep schedule and he didn’t stir until ten in the morning. He hummed, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes, a smile curling his lips as he remembered the reason why he felt so sticky down in his lower region, along with a dull ache.

"Hmm, Last night was wonderful, Eric…but we should get cleaned up, would you like to shower wi—" Alan quieted himself when he looked to the side and found himself alone in the bed. "Eric?" He sat up and eased himself carefully out of bed to check the bathroom, finding it empty as well. A glance out the window proved that the man’s car was gone—and he was alone again.

In a panic, Alan stumbled over to his bag and pulled out his new cell phone, calling Eric—only to be sent strait to voicemail on his new phone.

Hurt and heartbroken, Alan lowered the phone from his ear and let it drop to the floor. “Eric—why?” he choked, tears pricking his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

* * *

-To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

In room number two-ten—the last room available of the Grand Fairmont Hotel—William T. Spears and Ronald Knox found themselves in a rather awkward situation. After having escaped the day before with their lives by jumping from a forty foot building, William and Ronald made their way to the mortal realm and secured the room they now occupied. Ronald had helped the former supervisor clean and bandage his wounds, while a dinner was prepared and brought up to their suit. The room was large and spacious, but in it sat one single, large master bed—plenty of room for two reapers. William had been determined to make the junior officer sleep upon the floor, until he discovered that the young reaper was also injured more than either had realized. They were also informed upon their inquiry that the hotel was short on bedding and that there was no way possible for additional blankets and pillows to be provided, leaving them with one choice only.

Exhausted and in pain, both reapers compromised and divided the bed between them. Ronald on the right, William on the left. The hour had grown late and Will retired while his companion took a shower—which was a new plumbing fixture just recently installed in the hotel. William had long been fast asleep, by the time the blond joined him in bed. Now, the sun had begun to rise. The birds chirped merrily in the tree just outside their window, and the fire in the fireplace had grown cold.

The sound of a soft snore rose from the parted lips of the raven-haired reaper. His eyes moved back and forth beneath his closed lids as he dreamed. He turned his head, and his nose began to twitch. The silky thread of a blond hair grazed just inside his flaring nostril. He reached up unknowingly, only to discover more hair. Startled by his unsuspected discovery, William’s eyes shot open. All he could see was a blur of yellow as he peered down.

"What the devil?! Mister Knox?!" He started as he tried to move to wake the sleeping blond. But his right arm and half of his body was trapped beneath his companion’s body. "Knox! Ronald Knox, do wake up!"

Ronald moaned and reached up, grabbing a pillow and lazily plopping it down onto his head to block out the voice. He, of course, assumed it was Grell trying to wake him as his mentor often did go to make sure he woke up on time for work.

"Shuddap, ‘s ‘m day off…" he mumbled into the pillow, his words almost completely lost.

With a sigh, he wiggled back down into his dreams, finding his spot quite comfortable, his naked body warm under the covers and tucked in snugly against his boss.

"Oh, honestly!" Will complained as he used his free arm to reach across himself and pluck the pillow covering the blond’s head from his hand. He glared down at Ronald’s blurry head. "Mister Knox, I must insist you wake up this instant. Do you hear me?"

Receiving only a grunt of dissatisfaction, Will used the pillow to smack the sleeping reaper over the head. “Wake up!”

"Sssen’pai…I’ll cut yer hair, I swear." The blond threatened, shifting to duck under the blankets. His couch was never this comfortable—he wasn’t going to waste it!

"Mister Knox!" Will tried again, smacking the blond once more with the pillow. And then his eyes grew round with shock. Something hard began to poke him in the thigh. Realizing what the only object it could possibly be was, Will hollered Ronald’s name and with all his might, rolled out from under him. In the next instant, William found himself laid flat out on his stomach with the hard, cold floor underneath him.

"I said it’s my day off, Grell!" Ronald  snapped, rolling onto his back and sitting up, pillow in hand ready to chuck at the first red blur he spotted. But there was nothing red around him. In fact, there was nothing familiar to his sleepy mind at all.  Ronald groaned, falling back onto his back and covering his face with the feathered pillow, "Where the fuck am I? Was I drinking last night?"

Carefully, William pushed himself up onto all fours. He sighed from the pain in his shoulder and turned to the bed. He used it for support as he got to his feet and peered down at the bed and the blurry reaper, who laid sprawled in the middle of it. With his hands out in front of him, he felt his way over to the night stand and found his glasses. He slipped them on, making sure they were placed correctly upon the bridge of his nose before turning back to the bed and the problem hiding beneath its pillow.

Placing a knee onto the bed, William bent over the blond. Just as he was about to grab the pillow, the sheet slipped from under his leg.

"Omph…" Will exhaled as his body flopped down atop Ronald, knocking the wind out of him.

Startled, Ronald yelped and flailed; the pillow falling off his face and onto the floor as the tips of his fingers knocked William’s glasses from his face. “What the shit! Wait…who the fuck are you?” he asked, squinting to get a better look at the brunet. Or at least attempt to.

"Shit, Knox…what did you do?" he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes and trying to remember the night before.

"My glasses! I can’t see! Damn it, Knox!" William shouted, wide eyed and nearly panicked as his hands roamed over the surface of the bed. He found nothing more that crumpled sheets and blankets. He was completely unaware that his glasses had accompanied the feather stuffed fabric to the floor. "Where did they go?! I cannot locate them!"

"Wait…William-senpai? What are you doing here? Shit! What—did we..? Oh, oh, that’s not good…wait, why are you even on top of me? What’s going—where are we?" Ronald sat up suddenly, banging their skulls together. "Ghnnn fuck!"

William’s head bounced back from the impact. His hands flying to his forehead as he rolled onto his back and off of the blond.

Swearing, Ronald sat up and swung his legs off the bed, his toes brushing against Will’s glasses and he reached down to grab them. He tossed them on the other man’s stomach before standing up, the bedding falling away to expose his fully naked body. His tanned backside faced William as he stumbled towards the bathroom to splash water on his face to help wake himself up and hopefully remember what he was doing in a hotel with his boss.

William felt the cool plastic and glass land on his belly. As quickly as possible, he scooped up the black frames and slipped them back onto his face. He rolled over onto his belly—just in time to see two very round, toned butt cheeks turn into the bathroom. His mouth ran dry and he closed his eyes as a certain part of his anatomy stirred.

"Oh for Heaven’s sake!" He grumbled, sliding his arms out from under him to collapse atop the white linen sheets.

"What? I gave you back your glasses before they could get stepped on." Ronald called from the bathroom, the sound of water turning on as the young reaper splashed it in his face and waited as it helped wake up the rest of his mind—and he remembered how they had fled the Dispatch and hid themselves in the mortal realm.

Ronald frowned and slapped the cold water to his face one last time, “Shit…” he muttered to himself as he reached for a hand towel to dry his face and turn off the water. He then walked back into the main room, rubbing the back of his neck, “…Still kinda screwed, aren’t we?”

William looked up as the young officer reentered their suite, his eyes instantly going to the blond’s groin. Shocked, he closed his eyes immediately.

"Mister Knox, would you kindly cover your nudity? This is highly improper of you!"

Pink coated William’s cheeks. They felt warm as he pushed himself up blindly and turned to face the other side of the room. He sat on the edge of the opposite side of the bed and rubbed his forehead. A slight headache developing from the previous bump of heads that had occurred between them.

"Why?" The blond asked, reaching down to scratch an itch near his groin, "It’s not like you’ve never seen a penis before. We’re both guys, here. It’s not like we are going to be fucking or anything. I just sleep naked. Can’t stand being restricted at night. Little Knoxiewurst likes to breathe once in a while." He placed his hands on his hips and wiggled them side-to-side as he spoke about his privates.

William looked over his shoulder just in time to see Ronnie’s ‘little mustard seed’, swing dance. Snapping his head back around to face away from the blond, Will popped open the top button to his shirt. The room had become warm and stuffy.

"Mister Knox, I won’t have you like this."

"Have me?" The blond raised a blond eyebrow, "Just how are you ‘having’ me? We are only here because Dispatch fucked us over for some reason."

"Nude, Ronald Knox, nude!" Will replied growing a bit perturbed as he stood up. Then he looked down and frowned, discovering his bottoms were protruding slightly.

_~How insufferable! Go away! Deflate! I have no idea why you are rising to the occasion. Be gone I say!~_ He commanded his rebelling male parts.

Ronald crossed his arms, “I am nude already. What kind of perverted thoughts are you having, boss? I mean, I know I’m hot, but damn. You’re so icy that I would have never thought you’d want me like that!”

"I will not have your nudity, you incompetent half-wit. Sometimes I think your former mentor rubbed off on you," Will retorted, ill mannered. "Now if you will excuse me, I believe I need a bath…a cold one."

He looked down and verified that his happy companion had returned to appropriate form, before stepping around the bed. He averted his gaze as he headed for the private bathroom attached to their room. He would have much preferred a cold shower, but the previously mentioned shower was down the hall from their room…and in his mood and condition, he did not relish the idea of making his way to it, so he settled for a cold bath instead.

"You’re cold enough already." Ron huffed, falling back onto his back on the bed and looking up at the ceiling. "I’m going back to bed, then."

* * *

 

Nearly an hour later, Will returned the room, a towel secured around his waist as the sound of snoring greeting him. He marched over to the bed, finding the blond sound asleep. His eyebrow twitched with annoyance.

"Wake up, Mister Knox!" he demanded in a firm and commanding voice. "It is time to get dressed. We have things to do."

"Noisy…" Ronald complained, rolling over, "What can we even _do_? We’re hiding because someone tried to _kill_ you.”

"Us," corrected William. "They tried to kill _us_. They gave no regards that you or any other reaper might be in my office at the time of my assassination.”

"You were the target." Ronald said, sitting up and stretching, "So you. I would have been just a casualty."

"I can guarantee that eventually you would be targeted, Mister Knox, if what I did catch of that message indicated is correct," Will replied as he picked up his under pants and began to slip them on. "I do believe there will be many targets and as you say, casualties. We must figure out who is involved and who is not. But first, I suggest breakfast."

"Do I have to dress for breakfast like some hoity-toity rich person for dinner?" Ronald joked. He’d grown up in a rich family, and he detested the customs he’d been forced to live. So, breakfast in the nude was something he often enjoyed.

Will looked down at the blond as he buttoned his pants, having slipped them on and discarded his towel on the chair by the wall. “Yes, Knox. We are in the mortal realm and as such, we must conduct ourselves accordingly. Now please, stand up and get dressed. We are having breakfast in the dinning room and then we are going to procure the additional supplies we may need in our inquiry. We will stay tonight here and then seek further accommodations tomorrow.”

"Hmmmmh…" With a groan, The boy grabbed his boxers and tugged them on, "Even without a job, you are putting me to work," he complained, fishing a shoe out from under the bed.

"This is not work. This is saving our lives and hiding," Will countered as picked up his belt and threaded it through the belt loops on his trousers. "Honestly Knox, would you rather I had stayed in that office with you…let ourselves pass out and wake up in prison to find out what’s going on? Or let them kill us if we were not so fortunate?"

"…Guess not." The boy pouted, looking down, his pants in hand. The look made him look even younger, somehow.

William noticed the pout on the young reaper’s face, and stepped up next to him. Wanting to reassure Ronald, he placed a hand on the blond’s shoulder. “I apologize for my crassness. It isn’t my intention to be quite so harsh with you. I am equally as displaced as yourself. Let us get on with the day. There is much to do.”

* * *

 

The sound of a bell jingling broke the silence, in the quaint and dismally lit shop.

 A head of bright, crimson red peered in through the door. Eyes of emerald and peridot sparkled in the light provided by hanging lanterns as their soft glow touched his eyes.

"Hello?" His voice echoed in the empty shop.

Gently, he pushed the door further open and stepped into the shop. Receiving no greeting, he turned to close the door behind him. His red heels clicked against the floor as he walked across the old wooden surface of it. Once at the center of the shop, he stopped, his eyes darting to and fro.

"Undertaker?" Grell called out once more as he spun in place, gazing over every possible hiding place. He saw a doorway leading to a back room, and he slowly began to proceed in its direction.

In his hands, he clung tightly to the clutch purse he had chosen to house his cell phone and lip stick. It matched his shoes, and it was his favorite accessory. His skirt was black and form fitting, pencil style. His shirt was white as snow and he wore a waist coat of red over the top of it. Instead of a neck tie, he had chosen a red silk scarf to adorn his slender neck. His long, glorious hair was swept up into a ponytail with a ringlet on each side to frame his face.

"Undertaker, are you back there?" He asked as he approached the pink curtain.

The ancient heard the call and he held off, finding the idea of startling his new visitor highly amusing. He waited until Grell was right next to his coffin—the one next to the door leading to his living space—and he popped out of it with a maniacal grin.

"Boo."

Startled, the red reaper yelped and stumbled backwards away from the rising corpse. His foot caught on one of the lids of the display coffins as it lay next to its box. Another scream and a curse reverberated off the walls as Grell toppled into the open coffin, landing on his back. One of his heels was sent flying clear across the room and slammed into a jar that sat upon a shelf. With a loud crash, it hit the hard floor, spilling its contents.

"My goodness, you’re excitable," commented the mortician with a giggle as he emerged from his favorite coffin. "Why, look at the mess you’ve made! Calm down, dearie."

Grell looked up at the Undertaker’s face as the mortician peered down at him. His eyes narrowed on his host, and his lip curled in disgust. “I ought to reap you and send you to Hell for frightening a lady like that, you coffin-hugging, grave-digging, corpse-loving freak!”

The Undertaker merely grinned at him, and he snatched Grell’s custom-made glasses right off his head. “What y’ going to dooo about it?” he challenged in a sing-song, teasing voice. He danced away as the redhead snatched at the spectacles.

"Havin’ a bit of trouble, are you?"

"Damn it! Give those back!" Grell hollered as he struggled to pull himself out of the coffin. "I don’t have time for your… omph … ow."

Out of the coffin, Grell now lay sprawled out on the floor on his back. His eyes looked back over his head at the laughing mortician. Humiliated, he sighed and closed his eyes.

"Now I know how William feels all the time," he grumbled to himself, and he rolled over onto his stomach, then pushed himself up onto all fours.

Undertaker giggled, finding the redhead’s antics all too amusing. “Here they are, m’dear. come get them, if y’ can!”

"I am not above destroying your precious little shop here. Give those back now or I’ll make you pay. You hear me? Give me back my glasses." Grell demanded as he carefully got his feet. His ponytail was drooping and his other heel was no longer on his foot; but laying inside the coffin he had just vacated.

Undertaker danced aside, still giggling. “Not ‘till you ask me nicely.”

"I am not here to play games with you, Undertaker. You will give me back my glasses, now." Grell spoke through gritted teeth. In one quick, abrasive move, he spun around. His foot swung up behind the Undertaker’s calves and knocked his legs out from under him. Grell hiked his skirt and dropped to his knees, straddling  the surprised reaper. Laughing mercilessly, Grell leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of Undertaker’s head. His mouth hovering just above the ancient’s lips.

"See? What did I tell you I would do?" whispered the redhead.

"My, my, it’s been a while since a lady jumped my bones." Undertaker grinned up at him, his lazy, thick lashed eyes now visible due to his hat tumbling off in the fall and his bangs parting. On sudden impulse, he lifted his head off the floor and gave Grell a smooch on the lips.

Startled by the unexpected kiss, Grell snatched his glasses from the mortician’s hand and stood up, slipping them onto his face. He shimmied as he slid his skirt back down and the straightened it, smoothing the wrinkles out with his hands.

"That was _entirely_ uncalled for!” He scolded as he peered over his shoulder at the Undertaker. “I am not here to play games! Do get up and behave. We need to talk.”

Lips still tingling from the brief contact, the mortician snickered and obligingly got to his feet. He crossed his arms over his chest, his long sleeves concealing his fingers as they tapped against his arms through the material. “Oh, do we?” he smiled and he tilted his silver head inquisitively. “And just what do we have to talk about, lovely?”

"I have a proposition for you," Grell replied, bending over and retrieving one heel from the coffin. "I was sent to offer you a deal. Dispatch is under new management, and they would like you to return and offer your services. I of course think this is utter lunacy. I think you need to be locked away and undergo electric shock therapy. But this is not _my_ decision to involve you.”

Undertaker stared at the sight of Grell bending over, his thoughts briefly distracted by the pretty picture that the redhead made. His gaze traveled Grell’s legs from beneath his bangs, and he fought a snicker as he realized how easily this creature could tempt him to join with Dispatch, if he really put his skills to good use.

Tempt him…but not necessarily sway him. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve to be sure he wasn’t drooling, and he kept his voice neutral as the crimson reaper straightened up again and turned to look at him. “You might find I’d enjoy shock therapy more than what’s proper, Miss. As it stands though, I’m not interested in joining your merry band of…whatever they call themselves now. Your offer doesn’t tickle my pallet, I’m afraid.”

Grell knew he would say that. The old nut job was not dumb, just insane. He smiled broadly, displaying his piercing white teeth. “And as I told them; you are no longer interested in the affairs of our kind, but you see my hands are tied. I have no choice but to offer you what they are willing to give you.”

He slowly sauntered back up to the mad mortician and poked him in the chest with the toe of his shoe. “I don’t trust you. Not after the stunt you pulled on that ship. But that is why I am here. _They_ are interested in your research.”

"Are they, now?" Undertaker’s voice dropped to a husky note, unconsciously. Gracious, he found this reaper far too alluring for his own good…but he was no fool. "And what do they have to offer me then, Miss Sutcliff?"

The response came out as an unconscious purr. He was prepared to summon his children if necessary, but he was confident that he could handle this wild, fey creature if he demonstrated too much aggression.

Grell swallowed hard as he looked up at the mortician. Was it getting warm? He felt like a furnace had been lit and he was about to be cooked. Giggling nervously, he stepped back and then around the Undertaker. He needed to get away from the man, and so he sought out his other high heel.

"I have no clue why they want your research. Only that you would be given your own private lab and…" He spun back around with the other shoe in his hand, after having picked it up from the floor. He was careful not to cut his bare feet on the broken glass from the smashed jar. "You would have an endless supply of corpses to play with. Doesn’t that sound lovely?"

Undertaker tapped a nail against his grinning lips. “Hmm. The offer _does_ sound intriguing…”

He pretended to consider it for a while, and then he shrugged. “But you see, Miss Sutcliff, I live in London. Murders happen by the dozen in this city, so I practically have an endless supply of corpses already. They come in steady enough t’ suit me. As for the lab; I’ve got a nice one of my own, and I grow my own apothecary supplies. You’ve offered me nothing I don’t already have, I’m afraid. It’s a bit like offering gold to a rich man.”

He grinned mischievously, and he winked. “Come back when you can think of something a bit more original t’ offer me. I think Dispatch can be more creative than that.”

He nodded at the door, dismissing the crimson reaper.

Grell slipped his other shoe on before walking back up to the retired reaper. He licked his lips and rose up onto his toes. His hands rested delicately against the Undertaker’s shoulders. In a sultry voice, Grell giggled, then whispered. “We are not offering you mortal corpses, darling lunatic.”

With the proposition given, Grell backed away and dipped down. He grabbed his clutch from the floor and sauntered over to the door. He paused; his hand was on the knob as he spoke over his shoulder.

"I’ll be back in a day or two. Think it over very carefully, Undertaker. The people I work for won’t take ‘no’ for an answer."

He turned the knob and stepped out onto the busy London street. When he reached the end of the block, Grell leaned back against the wall and peeked back around the corner. He was breathing heavily and he closed his eyes.

"Pull it together girl. He was just trying to throw you off your game. You can do this. Don’t be a silly twit. You know what will happen if you don’t get him to join."

* * *

 

Inside his shop, Undertaker stood perplexed. “Did he mean they intend to offer me _reaper_ corpses? Oh dear. My, my…how very interesting. I wonder how many o’ those corpses might have met their demise through the hands of their own coworkers.”

He wasn’t blind to the goings-on with Dispatch, these days. His network had reported to him that reapers were now killing reapers. His ravens had witnessed one agent reap his own partner on the streets of London, when his back was turned. He wasn’t quite sure what exactly was going on, but he was getting the feeling that some foreign division was trying to take over the London one…and they wanted to barter his services.

The ancient frowned, leaning back against the counter thoughtfully. He had few compunctions, but to experiment on his own kind? If the death was an accident, sure…but if it were deliberately planned and executed?

"But an army of the dead wouldn’t disobey or betray them," he reasoned aloud. "If they had me t’ bring ‘em back, they could kill troublesome agents at their leisure—without losing a soldier in their ranks…though I dare say my dollies wouldn’t retain th’ wit to reap souls, even if the process _would_ work on a reaper.”

He was admittedly intrigued, yet at the same time, a small part of him recoiled at the thought of turning Shinigami into dolls—particularly those assassinated by their own kind. Maybe Sutcliff was pulling his leg. Maybe he didn’t mean reapers at all, but demons vanquished in the field. Now, _that_ would prove interesting.

"I’d say that’s the best offer they’ve made yet," he finally admitted with a shrug. "Still, I’m nobody’s lapdog. Not anymore."

Deciding to occupy himself with other things and avoid temptation, he locked up and turned the sign over to read “closed”, and then he went down into his catacombs to check on his latest creations that were due to wake up.

* * *

 

Eric cursed all the way to work. How could he abandon his partner like that, after…after…

He groaned, his mind replaying how passionately they’d made love. Of all the sins he’d committed, this had to be the worst. He hated it…hated himself…

…and then he hit a red light and noticed that his new, secure phone had a missed call.

"Oh mother o’ shit!"

As if he hadn’t done enough harm. He picked up the phone off the passenger seat where he’d put it and he brought it to his ear as he waited for the light to change.

"I’m sae sorry Alan…please pick up…"

Alan, still tearful, had moved all his things back into the car and checked out of his room. Hearing the sound of a default ring tone, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his new phone. Eric’s new number was flashing across the screen. He bit his lip, leaning back against the door of his car. He hadn’t left yet. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he answered and held it up to his ear,

"Er-Eric?" He hadn’t seen Eric’s note, and it had slipped down into his bag without his notice, so to him, it really was as if he had simply been used the night before. He wasn’t sure he wanted to answer, even as he did so.

On the other line, Eric breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank Lugh. Are ye a’right, Alan? I left a note but…I s’pose I should have woken ya. I jus’…if ya looked at me once more wi’ those eyes of yers, I thought I’d lose it. Did ya get mah note, sweet’eart?”

"What note? There _was_ no note… and no you. Why? Why couldn’t you stay with me?” Alan asked, unable to hide the tears in his voice, “I…I thought last night was the start of something special… not just a one…a one night… thing…”

Eric shook his head vehemently—and nearly ran over a pedestrian in his distraction. “No, Alan…it wasnae a single thing if I can help it. I left tae protect yeh. They’re lookin’ fer ya an’ I couldnae stay if I din’t want tae lead them to ya.”

He took a deep breath as he turned off the exit that would take him downtown, to the place he once loved and now hated. “Alan, I love ya. I have for some time, now. I dun’ want yeh tae be alone if I can help it, but we cannae be together right now. Gods, if I could be there…”

He swallowed. He’d do anything for this reaper, and their night together had only intensified his devotion to him. “Are ye sure ya didnae see the letter I wrote, love? I dinnae sneak out on ya. Please believe tha’.”

"No, there was no letter. Eric." Alan gripped the phone tightly, "I don’t like this, Eric. Not at all. I want you with me. I love you. Come back, please!"

Eric had to pull over. His eyes burned and his heart ached. He wasn’t even really paying attention; it was just some random fuel station he’d found upon exiting the freeway. “I want tae. I cannae tell ya how much I want tae do just tha’, Alan, but there’s more at stake here than yeh know. Please, jus’ get out of this realm! Stay safe an’ stay hidden. I promise I’ll come for ya when it’s safe again, but I cannnae have ye dragged in tae this!”

"And what do you expect me to do? Worry about you every day, while you ‘handle’ this thing and I hide away in cheap motels?" Alan shook his head, "I’ll come home. I can help you."

"No!" Eric practically shouted it, and he forced himself to calm down. "Alan, no. If ya try tae do tha’, then everything I’ve done is for nothin’. Please…please jus’…trust me. I know I haven’t given ya reason tae do it, but trust me. If yeh come in, they’ll take ya. All I want is for yeh tae be safe. Please. Do this fer me."

"You can’t expect me to hide and do nothing! You _know_ I can’t do that. You know me more than anyone. Please…at least tell me how I can help.”

Eric sighed heavily. He’d worked with Alan for a while now, and he know that his small, compassionate partner was more than capable of taking care of himself under normal circumstances. This was so _big_ , though.

"If yeh want tae help me, Alan, ye’ll stay safe. I’m going tae try to find Spears an’ Knox before Dispatch does an’ give ‘em both a head’s up. I’ll see tae it tha’ yer reunited wi’ them if I can, but they’re at large now. Th-the people responsible fer this already tried tae take th’ boss out. I’m on _both_ sides righ’ now. I’ve got tae play it safe an’ keep _ye_ safe, a’right? Tha best ya can do fer me right now is tae stay unner th’ radar.”

Alan frowned, “You can’t be on both sides of this, Eric. This is too big from what you hint at. Either you are helping them or you are helping…us. Me and whomever is left.” Alan wiped his eyes and dried his cheeks with his sleeve, “Please, don’t do anything stupid.”

Eric sighed again. He wished that he could comfort the brunet, wished he could be there for him as he pleaded; but he was so thoroughly embroiled in the operation that there was no chance of that happening, anytime soon. “I know, Alan. I’m tryin’ tae play it safe fer both of us. I miss ya already an’ I wish there was ano’er way. I’ll come tae yeh when it’s safe, sweetheart. I promise.”

"Please, Eric, How can I help you? Even if it’s staying away…give me something more I can do. Maybe we can fight back somehow? Get Dispatch back? I’m sure Mister Spears, Ronald, and Grell would help us!"

"Ya cannae trust Grell," insisted Eric stonily. "No’ now, anyway. I’m still tryin’ tae figure him out. Spears and Knox yeh can trust, though. Tha’s it, Alan. Dun’ risk yerself puttin’ trust in anyone else, understand?"

"I can’t trust Grell?" Alan frowned, "Why not? He’s always been a good friend of mine." He began to pace as he talked on the phone, "Wouldn’t he be with Mister Spears? He fancies the man greatly. He’d be loyal."

"Grell has turned, Alan," informed Eric desperately, "like me. Regardless of past connections, yeh cannae trust him. I’m sorry. I wish it were otherwise."

Alan frowned, “But you haven’t ‘turned’. If you had, you wouldn’t have gotten me out.” He insisted. “You got caught up in this thing, and _you_ haven’t turned against us.” The brunet paused, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, “You are a good man, Eric.”

The Scotsman snorted without humor. “A ‘good man’,” he repeated in a pained murmur. “I think yer tha only one of us tae still think so. I sold out to ‘em ‘cause I couldn’t see ano’er solution. Al…if I…ah, hell…I wish I could tell ya everythin’. I wish I had ano’er choice.”

He wanted to confess to him the promise they’d made him…the procedure they’d explained to him that might cure Alan’s Thorns and save him from death. He couldn’t, though, because he didn’t want to get the younger reaper’s hopes up. He swallowed and shut his eyes. “I’ll do mah best tae find Will an’ Ron before they can, an’ when I do, I’ll figure out a way fer them tae meet up with ya. I…I dinnae want yeh tae be alone. I love ya.”

"You’re not being truthful to me." Alan sighed, sitting on the hood of his car, "Eric, I love you, too, but I want you to tell me the truth—all of it. I need to know the whole truth of what’s going on—and why you can’t run with me. Help me understand. Please." He was on the verge of tears again as he pleaded into the phone.

Eric cursed softly, his hand tightening around the steering wheel. The soft curse turned more vehement as he struggled inwardly. “Fuck. _Fuck_!”

The heartfelt obscenity was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he took his hand off the steering wheel to rub his forehead. Alan wasn’t going to let this go, and he was the one person in existence that Eric could not bring himself to lie to. “A’right, they promised me a cure fer tha Thorns, okay? They…they have access tae treatment tha’ could save yer life, Alan. I cannae pass that up. If there’s even a chance they could save ya, I’ve go’ tae take it.”

Alan relaxed, His eyes taking on a look of sorrow, “Eric…there _is_ no cure. You know that.” He swallowed, “You need to stop chasing phantom cures for me. We…we could enjoy more time together if you didn’t chase after these myths. We could be together.”

"But this one’s _real_ ,” insisted the Scotsman. “It makes perfect sense! I could even do it, if I had tha experience tae meddle wi’ cinematic records tae try it, Al. I don’t, though…I could jus’ make it worse by tryin’ myself, so we need their specialist tae pull it off. Please, jus’ give me more time. I jus’ need tae stay a while longer, an’ when I’ve go’ tha opportunity, I can bring him tae ye an’ ye’ll have a fightin’ chance!”

"It’s not _real_ , Eric! You need to accept that. I’ve accepted it.” Alan sighed, “Besides, even if it _is_ real, if it did work. They wanted me, right? That’s why you sent me away? Why would their specialist cure me after that? And why wouldn’t they publish the cure? I’m not the only reaper with Thorns. They would be a hero of our realm for curing the un-curable.”

"They wanted tae bring ya into it, aye," agreed the Scotsman, compressing his lips. He was getting frustrated. Alan’s admonishments made him feel like a child chasing after a fairytale, but the brunet hadn’t seen the things he had. "Maybe yer willin’ tae give up an’ die, but I’m no’ willing tae sit back an’ watch it happen. I’m sorry, Alan. I’ll be in touch wi’ ye. Jus’ wait fer me an’ stay safe."

He couldn’t bear to listen to another argument from him, so he hung up. He put the phone on silence, and he took a few moments to compose himself, breathing heavily with emotion. He had no choice. He was doing this for the only person that truly mattered to him, and he couldn’t falter now. Maybe one day, Alan would understand and forgive him. He had to produce the cure before he could expect him to believe it, though.

With grim determination, the Scotsman firmed his resolve and put his car into gear again, pulling out of the service station’s parking lot and into traffic.

* * *

 

"Must you do that, Mister Knox? Weren’t you taught manners at some point in your existence?" Will asked, annoyed as he sat his cup of tea back down upon the table. His eyebrow twitched as he watched the young reaper cram a hunk of ham into his mouth. "Honestly!"

"Of course I was. But after seventeen years of having manners shoved down my throat I figure I can actually enjoy my food now," Ronald said, his cheeks puffed out and full of food as he spoke. He picked up his glass and took a sip to wash it all down, "Nothing’s worse than having to eat like you’re dining at the Queen’s table, every meal. Such tiny bites. Can’t even tell they are off the fork."

"That does not mean you have to stuff your face like a starved, crazed neanderthal. And do _not_ talk with your mouth full. No one wishes to see that.” Will harrumphed, picking up his fork and stabbing his eggs.

"You sound like my mother." Ron rolled his eyes with a shrug, "There’s no one here to impress." he scooped some eggs onto his fork and shoveled them into his mouth. "An’ if dere is, den why change who I am to impress someone I don’ really know?"

With his free hand, William pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of all the reapers I had to run away with…”

Taking a deep breath, Will decided on a different tactic and he tried once more to get the boy to understand his plight. “Mister Knox? Please try and understand me. I am your boss, and now your roommate. I am only asking for a bit of respect and courteousness. So again I ask, please refrain from speaking with your mouth full and use a certain amount of decorum when we eat.”

Ron wagged his finger at William and swallowed. “Not my boss. Not anymore. No more Dispatch, and things are about to get real messy with uncollected souls.” He eyed the untouched sausage on William’s plate. “You going to eat that?”

"I beg your pardon?" Will replied as he followed to where the blond was pointing on his plate. Aggravated and insulted, he looked up as his eyebrow twitched. "As a matter of fact I am, Mister Knox and I am still your senior, even if Dispatch has been temporarily thrown into chaos."

"You eat slow. Can’t blame me." he shrugged, finishing off his orange juice. "Hey, do you think the others are okay? I mean, with what happened to us in your office, I’m sure word got out about it."

"To be honest, I have no idea. One would hope there are some that can be trusted, but until we discover who they may be and who are corrupted, I am afraid we are solely on our own. Making contact is going to prove to be a challenge. Using our phones will only jeopardize us."

"Don’t have mine." Ron shrugged, "I had left it on my desk. It was only supposed to be a quick run to your office and back. I’m reaper technology-free. Other than my glasses, of course."

"Good. One less thing we have to worry about. I have mine, but I shall refrain from using it until we need to." Will nodded, glad to hear he didn’t have to risk that with the blond. "After we are finished here, I believe we shall make a list of those we trust and those we know we cannot. We’ll make a list of those that we are unsure of and hold off on contacting them until we know more. Does that sit well with you, Mister Knox?"

"Aren’t we unsure of…everyone? Heck, how do we know we can trust each other?" Ron half-joked with a smirk.

"I can assure there are reapers in the Dispatch that I would stake my eternal life on. They have never done anything that would make me consider them as back-stabbers or betrayers. However, I would not be surprised if the majority of them are dead or in prison by now. Or they will be soon."

"Well…what about Grell? Alan and Eric?" Ron suggested, "Even that old geezer you look up to, or Father Anderson?"

Will shook his head, “Not Grell. That one would side with anyone who would gain him better ground. Mister Humphries…I would say yes. Slingby and the Undertaker, one cannot say at this time. I believe we should try and locate Mister Humphries and hope that he is still alive and not in prison. We ought to check in with Undertaker as well. He was a fugitive and no longer works for Dispatch. We may be able to persuade him to help us. That is, if no one has gotten to him first.”

"Hey, But Grell’s my senior. I work with him daily! I would have noticed if someone got to him." Ron insisted, not wanting to believe that he had been working so closely with a potential traitor. "And Eric-Senpai…he’s my best friend. We went out drinking together two nights ago! I crashed on his couch!"

"And I don’t doubt that had you not been in my office at the time of my discovery, they would still be your friends and potentially recruiting you. Of course, that depends on if they are a part of what is going on or not," replied William as he picked up his morning tea and sipped it.

"They can’t be!" Ron insisted, "They are my only two real friends, Senpai. We can trust them. I know we can."

Agitated by the young reaper’s persistence, William cracked. He slammed his fist down on the table, causing the silverware and plates to clang. Then he glared at the blond over the brim of his tea cup, still held in his other hand. “No. I am afraid we cannot not trust them any longer. Not at least until proven otherwise. Not every reaper we know is going to be trustworthy. You need to understand that. You are acting like a child. I must insist you desist at once.”

"Well _excuse me_ for having faith in my friends. But that must be a foreign thing for you, huh?” Ronald stood up, glaring at William, “I’d trust them over your heartless arse, any day!”

With that said, he turned on his heel and stormed off, heading back to their hotel room. “Fucking—stupid—Spears!” he grumbled.

Exasperated, Will let out a long-winded sigh and hung his head, carefully sitting his cup down in the process. It would do neither one of them any good to fight, but here they were do exactly that. Picking up his napkin, he wiped his mouth before motioning to the waiter.

The waiter, a tall man with brown skin  and short black hair walked over, a stained apron tied around his waist and a clean towel over his shoulder. “Is there a problem, sir?”

"No. I would just like the bill. I believe we are done with our breakfast and need to be on our way. Thank you." Will replied glancing up and nodding.

"Yes, sir. One moment." The young man nodded, hurrying off to collect their bill and returning, handing it over to William before starting to clear the table.

Will took one last sip of his water before standing and walking to the service counter to handle the payment for their bill. He nodded respectfully with the young woman appeared to collect the payment. With the debt settled, he headed for the staircase that lead to their room. Sick to his stomach with regret, Will stood in the hall thinking and prepared himself. Assured he was calm and able, he rapped lightly upon the door.

"Fuck you," The grumpy blond’s voice answered. He’d left the door unlocked simply so that he wouldn’t have to actually get up to let the man in. He was seated in the open window, looking down at the street below as he sat on the sill, his leg hanging out and dangling outside.

Checking the knob and finding it unlocked, Will opened the door and stepped into the room. The sun was bathing Ronald in a warm light, creating a celestial aura around him. Will paused and just stared. He had never seen the young reaper look like that before and he was captivated by the scene. His anger and frustration melted away completely. Will could have cared less that the blond had just told him to “fuck off”.

Slowly, Will approached him and he cleared his throat. “I forgot myself downstairs. I am displeased with myself, for having lost my temper. We need to work together not kill each other. May we move on and have peace between us?”

"I don’t know…can we?" The blond asked, turning his head to look at William, "You just told me I can’t trust the only two people I have ever truly trusted completely since I became a full reaper. Sure, I’m young, rowdy…and I make mistakes. But Grell and Eric have been the only ones to truly care as they help me…as they teach me to better myself as an officer. What am I if I can’t trust them anymore? Just another idiot who’d get himself killed?"

He sighed and looked back out the window. “I know Senpai makes mistakes…and is annoying ninety percent of the time…but he’s like an older sibling to me…and Eric? He’s saved my drunken arse from enough bar fights to last for lifetimes.”

"Then let us hope that they are not already involved. Let us hope we can still trust them. But I only request not to throw caution to the wind. It is far to dangerous to do anything rash." Will spoke carefully as he sat down across from the blond, on the windowsill. "I’ve known Grell for a very long time. He is fickle as the day is long, but I would hope that he is still an ally…though I am afraid that if push came to shove, he would do what he felt he needed to do. Even if that meant doing something wrong."

"…And…Eric?" Ronald asked, still not looking at William, and rather looking down at a shop-keeper sweeping the pavement outside his door.

"He’s a good reaper. Still, he may have a reason to side with the ones behind this. It is much too early to say. Hence the reason I wanted to form lists. I want us to get in touch with whomever we can trust, that is in hiding, first. Then…" Wanting to reassure the blond, Will reached over and touched his knee. "You are not alone, Ronald. We will figure this out, together. We will find our colleagues and find out where they stand."

"This sucks shit." Ronald frowned, "How are we even supposed to find anyone if they are in hiding? They are in hiding for a reason! To hide and not be found by the jerk-asses with poisoned gas."

William nodded in agreement. This was going to prove to be a tiresome trial; and not one he looked forward to either.

"We will just have to find a way. Most will eventually make their way down here, where it is easier to hide from our kind, but they will try to blend in as we are. We will need to think carefully about places that the reapers we know would go to hide or feel safe. That may be our only hope in finding them."

"Like where? I don’t even feel save here. I doubt I’d feel safe in any of my pubs. Lots of reapers know where I like to go and we can’t trust them. I’m sure others would be the same way."

"Perhaps if we go in search of supplies, some ideas will began to form in our head. The day is warm and the streets are crowded. We can blend in. We may even be fortunate to find a place we can hide out in that is less public than this hotel," Will suggested, standing up and brushing off his pants. "Come Ronald, we need to be away. There is much to be done and the day is wasting away."

* * *

 

Eric had to report in before heading out for the day’s reaping assignment. Souls still needed to be collected after all, and that was still his primary job when they didn’t send him on the odd mission to prove is loyalty in the most sickening way. He reported to Anderson again, his stomach growling from lack of breakfast even though he felt he might throw up anything he tried to eat, right now.

"I havenae found Alan yet," he told his superior. "Went by his apartment an’ found a lo’ of things missing."

"So you believe he’s defected?" Lawrence tapped his pen absently on the documents laid out on his desk.

"He’s loyal tae Dispatch," answered the Scotsman firmly. "But he’s sick. He was lookin’ in tae different treatments he could try, an’ he knows I worry about him. Since I haven’t had tha chance tae talk to him about wha’s goin’ on an’ tell him about tha treatment, odds are he went off somewhere tae try somethin’ else and he dinnae want me fretting o’er it. He’s no traitor. He loves his job an’ he’d do wha’ever’s best fer Dispatch…even if he doesnae like it."

The older reaper glanced toward the window thoughtfully, his pensive gaze staring out at the skyline. “Then you believe he can be convinced to take up the cause?”

Eric nodded. “Once it’s explained tae him…but I need tae be th’ one tae approach him wi’ it. He’s known me since reaper academy an’ he trusts me.”

"And you believe he’s taken off somewhere to seek alternative medical treatment for his condition," mused Anderson.

Again, Eric nodded. “I’ve seen him researching it… _sir_. Only a few things were missin’ from his place, so wherever he went, he’s plannin’ tae come back. I’m sure he’ll contact me when he gets there an’ let me know. He wouldnae run from this wi’out comin’ tae me an’ asking me tae come wi’ him.”

Anderson looked at him for a long time, measuring him with his eyes. Finally he nodded. “Very well, then. The moment he contacts you, you are to inform us immediately and action must be taken to bring him back.”

Eric nodded, because there was nothing else he could do.

Lawrence looked at the paperwork on his desk. “Sutcliff is still out on a mission that we hope will prove a success. I’m afraid you’ll need to take on some of his reaping assignments today. We’ve begun to get backed up again, and we’ve lost too many souls to demons.”

Eric snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe tha’s because ye’ve killed off too many agents tha’ would o’erwise be out there collecting righ’ now.”

The older reaper raised a brow at him. “Your talents are appreciated, Slingby, but you _can_ be replaced. Please keep that in mind.”

"Always do… _sir_.” Eric took death list intended for Grell that the older man offered to him, and he excused himself to get started.

* * *

 

"Five down," muttered the Scottish reaper after finishing his latest collection. He sighed, looking at the list. "Twenty more tae go. Shite, I miss mah partner."

Thinking of how he missed working with him at his side naturally made him think of other ways he missed Alan, and his mind again went back to the desperate passion they’d shared the night before. As he left the home of his latest acquisition and started walking down the street, he thought of the way Alan’s soft, gentle eyes gazed up at him with trust and a little fear, and the way they widened with pleasure once it really got started. The sound of his sweet voice spurring him on, crying his name with such feeling as he…

…Wait…was that a flash of yellow-blond he’d just spotted across the street? He did a double-take, his heart pounding with hope. The build was right; small like Alan, blond cowlick, darkening to black at the collar…no mortals in this time period would color their hair like that or have it naturally occurring, either. The young man’s back was turned to him as he walked away, heading towards the market.

Eric put away his list and banished his scythe, purposely keeping himself cloaked from mortal view. He needed to get ahead of him to be sure, and if it was who he thought it was, he’d be able to see him and hear him. He began to sprint, leaping over obstacles with ease that even the most athletic mortals could not duplicate.

_~Let it be him,_ ~ he begged to any divine beings that might be listening. _~Let him be alive.~_

He got ahead of the small crowd that the blond was blending in with, keeping him in sight thanks to that bright head of hair. He ought to be wearing a cap or something to hide it a little…make it less recognizable. Ronald Knox didn’t always consider such things though, and after what had happened—if it really was him—then he was probably still reeling over it.

Deciding he was close enough in range to make himself known without giving him a scare, Eric called out to him. “Ronnie!”

Hearing his name, Ronald stopped dead in his tracks. The crowd moved on without him, and a few people bumped his shoulders as they passed; some apologizing, some not. The blond turned towards where he thought he’d heard the voice, and seeing the tall, built form of his best friend, his eyes widened in confusion as to what he should do. He and William had split up to get things done faster, so William wasn’t around to be attacked. He was the target, after all. But should he run? That could spell out bad news for him as it was obvious he’d already been spotted somehow. But if he approached him…

Uhg! Both options were risky if Eric wasn’t trustworthy like William suggested.

Taking a deep breath, he made up his mind and stepped forward, making his way over to Eric. He could always run later…right?

"Eric-senpai?" he asked cautiously.

Eric crossed the distance, casting a quick look around to be sure there weren’t any other agents nearby. “Let’s get outta sight,” he suggested in a low voice to the blond. “Gotta make this quick, a’right?”

"I…guess…" Ron frowned, following Eric to an alley, but he didn’t let himself be pulled in too far so that he’d have a better chance at getting away of needed, "What’s going on?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"I think ya prolly know tha’ already," answered the Scotsman with a sigh. He looked him over for injuries. Ronald had at least chosen to dress like a mortal civilian. "But I’ll tell ye wha’ I can. Ya need tae be wearin’ a hat when ya go ou’ in public, kid. Tha’ hair’s a dead giveaway, even if ye aren’t in Shinigami uniform. Did Will make it too?"

"Maybe." Ronald shrugged, "How would I know?" He hated having to be suspicious of his best friend. He felt like he was being so cold to him.

Eric smirked and huffed dryly. “If I was gonna bring ye in or call th’ hounds on ye, would I have hollered at ye an’ let ya see me? Come on, Ronnie. I’m no’ tha’ thick.” He shrugged, “But I cannae blame ya. Dun’ trust anyone…no’ even me. Far as I’m concerned, I ne’er saw ye and ya ne’er saw me either after this, clear?”

Ronald relaxed, “Yeah, yeah, I knew I could trust you! I knew you weren’t a huge idiot to help whatever this thing is!”

Eric winced. “Actually, I’m workin’ fer tha one’s responsible fer this takeover…but I’m no’ on their side.” He cast another wary look around and he spoke in a low voice. “I’m gonna give ye Alan’s contact number. Get yerself a secure phone an’ dinnae use yer company one. He’s all alone ou’ there an’ in hiding, like yeh are. They go’ me when they go’ Grell. Dun’ try tae contact him, ‘cause I cannae guarantee he can be trusted an’ even if he can, they could use _his_ phone tae track tha number back tae ya, even if ya use an unknown number.”

He dug out his secure phone—the one he kept hidden in his car when he was in the office—and he searched for Alan’s new contact number. “Please, Ronnie…meet up wi’ him an’ take care of each other. Will too, if ya know where he’s at. They’re takin’ o’er every division, every branch…an’ those tha’ havenae gone ‘dark’ by now are either dead, workin’ fer them or imprisoned.”

Ronald frowned again, “How can you be with them but not at the same time?” He asked, clearly confused, “And I don’t have any phone. It’s back on my desk. Trying to escape doesn’t give much time for grabbing things, you know. What even _is_ this? Who’d want to overthrow dispatch? Demons? Angels?”

"Other reapers," explained Eric. "It’s a regime o’ sorts, Ronnie. I cannae say jus’ how it started, but they’ve been slowly takin’ over fer years, starting wi’ tha bigger divisions an’ branching ou’. They’ve got specialized scythes, eyes and ears everywhere an they’re ruthless. Grell made a deal wi’ them tha’ you an’ Spears aren’t tae be killed. They were gonna try an’ recruit ya, but Will’s too much of a risk an’ so they’d planned tae lock him up. I guess ye jus’ happened tae be in there when he stumbled across a file they din’t want him tae see an’ last I heard, ya both go’ away afore they could detain ya."

He sighed. “As fer me, if I’m on a side, it’s Alan’s. Tha’s th’ simplest way I can put it.”

"And…what side is Alan on?" Ronald asked slowly, scratching the back of his head, "I should know if you want me to trust you and call him."

"Same side as you, Ronnie. I go’ him out o’ here as soon as tha hammer started dropping. Came back an’ found out ye an’ tha boss disappeared, so it must have all happened ‘round tha same time. I dun’ want him tae be alone. Jus’ look after him fer me while I get wha’ I need from these bastarts, will ya?"

"I…guess… But this better be legit! Spears would kill me if I let you lead me into a trap." Taking out a pen, he rolled up his sleeve and copied Alan’s number down onto his forearm, "You do me a favor, too, though. Make sure my bike isn’t stolen or damaged. I just got that thing. It was a pain to save up for. It’s parked in the dispatch lot C. Keys are in the top drawer of my desk."

"If I can find a way tae get it to ya, I will," promised Eric, "but it’ll need tae be debugged, like mah car. They’ve probably go’ a tracer on it somewhere. Plus, yeh cannae go drivin’ it ‘round in tha mortal realm. That’d draw attention tae ye fast."

He sighed again and looked around. “I’d best get goin’. I’ll call Alan when I get tha chance an’ let him know ye’ll be gettin’ in touch wi’ him.”

He looked at the younger reaper for a second, and he reached out for him. “Come ‘ere, kid.”

Without waiting for a reply, Eric pulled him into a brief hug and patted his back. “Take care o’ yerself. If I find they’ve go’ a lead on any of ya, I’ll do mah best tae warn ye.” He let go of him and he turned to go, unwilling to risk any of his other “associates” tracking him down and finding his party mate.

"Yeah—you be careful, you big idiot!" Ron called after him before fixing his sleeve and turning to hurry back out to the crowd. Maybe he did need a hat, though. Making a mental note to pick one up if he passed a shop that sold them, he continued about his chores William had assigned him.

* * *

-To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

* * *

"Hey! That tickles!" the redhead giggled as a pair soft, pink lips pressed gentle kisses to his throat. His red-painted nails scraping the back of broad, strong shoulders. Dozens of candles blanketing him and his lover in soft, warm candlelight were placed in various places of Grell’s master suit. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the night. The sheets were blood red and hugging his waist. Their clothes were flung all over the room. Grell’s red, lace panties hung from his standing mirror in the far corner. A pair of midnight blue boxers lay across the footboard. The sound of panting and giggling echoed off the hunter-green painted walls.

"You’re such a naughty reaper." whispered Grell. He let out another giggle as his tongue glided along the edge of his lover’s ear. "Tasty, too. I could just eat you alive."

"If that’s what you want, beautiful…or, I could eat you." Grell’s companion husked, shifting against him and starting to nibble up along his neck, his hands sliding down Grell’s sides to his hips, "Treat you like the lady you are…and the bad girl you are." he smirked, slapping Grell’s shapely ass suddenly.

Grell yelped and burst into another fit of giggles. Both sets of his cheeks were blushing.

"Are you going to punish me, darling?" Grell asked, his eyes closing as he arched his back, pressing his groin into his lover’s abdomen. "I’ve been a really bad girl today. I let that demon kiss me. Here…"

Taking, his companion’s hand, Grell placed his fingers against his lips.

"And then he kissed me here, and here, and lastly…."

Slowly, the redhead trailed his lover’s fingers down over his jawbone to his neck.  Then he continued to gradually slide then down his chest, pausing at his stomach before he continued to move them down to his blooming sex.

William’s eyes flashed and he forced Grell down onto the bed, “How _dare_ you let filth like that touch you! Now I’ll have to clean you back up. You reek of demon,” He growled, pressing his lips to Grell’s, fiercely kissing him and pinning him down, slipping his leg between pale thighs.

"Mmmm…." Grell moaned as he fisted his hands. Blood trickled from the sides and onto the sheets as his sharp nails pierced his delicate flesh. Panting heavily now, he tore his lips from William’s. "Yes, darling, I’m a wicked, wicked reaper. Make me beg for forgiveness."

William growled, attacking Grell with kisses in an animalistic manner, unable to keep his hands off the redhead. He worked his way lower and lower, until he was between his legs and he looked up at Grell, meeting his gaze and opening his mouth to speak again-

And a shrill, digitized melody left his lips.

Grell opened his eyes and looked down at his lover. “Will, what did you just say?”

The tune sounded again as William opened his mouth to respond anew.

Confused, Grell slithered out from under him and stared blankly. The shrill tune grew louder as Will tried to speak once more. The room went dark and then the candles re-ignited. They began to flicker in and out as the sound grew even louder. Frightened, Grell scooted further back away from his lover and former boss. Not aware he was near the edge, Grell’s hand slipped off the side and he tumbled from the bed. The floor seemed to vanish from under him and he continued to fall. His arms and legs flailed in front of him as William peered over the edge down at him. His eyes flickered with the candles and the digital melody emanated from his mouth.

"Noooo….!" Grell screamed, covered in sweat as he sat up in the middle of his large bed, in the middle of his master suit. He looked down at the cellular phone next to him, on his pillow. The tune of Beethoven’s fifth symphony played as the light on the screen flashed on and off with the pulse of the tune.

Quickly, he snatched it up and flipped it open. “What the Hell do you want? I was trying to sleep.” He snapped as he answered it.

His eyes narrowed. “Is there a particular reason why you have selected me to confront the old bat? You do realize I have little desire to associate with him. Not after the things he has pulled. You do remember the boat incident, don’t you? The son of a bitch nearly destroyed me and the ‘little love sick pup’.”

Grell listened carefully and then gritted his teeth as he replied. “Yes, of course. You don’t need to remind me. I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’ll use whatever means necessary. Just you keep your end of the bargain.”

Angry and frustrated, Grell slammed the phone closed and threw it at the door to his bedroom.

"Lucifer’s burning cock! I should have never agreed to this."

 

* * *

 

"Girly…super girly… flowery and girly…damn, are their any men’s hats around here?" Ronald huffed. He’d finished his list of things to do and had stopped in a hat store he’d passed on his way to meet back with William; but every hat on display was too feminine of a style for his tastes. Though Grell would have loved quite a few of the hats in the shop. Lace, flowers, satin…nothing. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and sighed. He didn’t have time to find another shop, but Eric had been right about him needing one. He probably stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Hey, do you have any _guy_ hats here? Or just…you know, something simple and lacking the girly shit?”

"That was quite uncalled for, young man. How indecent of you to use such profanity in front of a lady." The woman behind the counter scolded, wagging her finger at the young man with strange hair. "As to your question, I am afraid this shop caters strictly to the ladies of London. If you would like a gentlemen’s hat, you will need to go down the street and turn right at the corner. Three doors down on your right will be one. It is up to date on the latest fashions for gentlemen."

Ronald sighed and turned on his charm, flashing her a bright smile, “I’m sincerely sorry. I’ve been having a very hard day. It was wrong of me to take it out on you.” He pointed up at his hair, “Someone pulled a practical joke on my hair and it looks like a circus attraction. I have an important meeting today that I’m running late for, so I was really hoping to find a nice-looking hat before I’m overly late meeting with a Duke. It wasn’t supposed to be me, mind you. My father fell ill and can’t attend the meeting today.”

"And as I said before young man, I have no hats for gentleman. However, if you’d like to buy a pretty bonnet, I’d be more than happy to give you a deal." She winked, not falling for his charm, but doing her best to turn it back on him.

"Oh, you’re good." He sighed, "I was hoping you had something hidden in back. I really am running late for my meeting with Duke Spears." He turned, heading out the door.

Ronald sighed, hurrying down the streets, searching for the other hat shop, “Stupid hats…can’t make this easier, can they?” he muttered to himself as he almost walked right past his destination due to looking on the wrong side of the street.

"Haa! Tricky shop." he gasped, spinning around and hurrying  into the shop, finally greeted by displays of men’s styles of head wear. Now…to find one that was both affordable and looked good on him.

Will stood on the corner of Brook Street and Piccadilly, glancing at his watch. Ronald was late as usual and Will was growing more concerned by the moment. Every tick of the second hand was making his eye twitch. First irritation, and then the thought that he might possibility have been found by Dispatch crossed his mind. He glanced up once more and looked down to his left. He searched vigilantly, hoping to see his blond head making its way down the boulevard, but to his dismay, there was no sign of him.

"Mister Knox, where on Earth have you gotten to? If you are only flitting about you are putting us at great risk. I must insist you show yourself at once." He grumbled as he turned his attention the other direction.

His eyes narrowed in on a blond head, but the person was surround by the crowds and to far for him to make out for certain. Following his gut, he crossed Piccadilly and pursue the blond. From the glimpses he caught, it was indeed a young man. Quite possibly Ronald.

"Pardon me." He apologized as he bumped into a young woman as he crossed the packed thorough fair. He bowed his head in sincerity, then looked back up in time to the see the young man dive into a shop.

Continuing on his way, Will stopped before the shop and glanced into its window. There before him, trying on a hat, was the missing soul to their duo.

"Thank the stars," he whispered as he opened the door and went in. "I was beginning to believe you had been discovered. I hope that you have not been gallivanting while you were suppose to be collecting supplies."

Ronald stiffened, freezing as he reached to take the black fedora off his head to replace it with a black homburg that had a white ribbon encircling it that he thought he’d like better. Slowly, he turned to look at the stoic man, “Heh, Sorry I’m late?”

"Would you care to explain where you have been, and why you are so terribly late as usual? Honestly Mister Knox, if the whole of Dispatch were chasing us and we had to be on a boat, out of this forsaken country, you would still manage to be late. Despite your hide being on the chopping block. Which in essence, it currently is."

"That’s exactly why I am late!" Ronald insisted, switching the hats and looking in the mirror, "Hiding my hair so I’m not so easily spotted by the dicks that tried to off you."

"Correction. You may be a victim of happenstance, but they tried ‘off you’ as well," Will replied as he took a seat in one of the offered guest chairs and watched the young reaper try on another hat. "At least you thought of something useful. It is true your hair stands out amongst the mortals and would quickly identify you as something out of the ordinary. I will give you credit, there."

Ronald bit his lip, not mentioning out loud that it was Eric’s idea. William didn’t trust Eric, after all…Hell, Eric didn’t even seem to trust himself.

"What, have something against my hair?" He asked, switching the hats back to compare the two. They were the same style. Only one was all black and the other had the white on it. He liked both but would have to choose one.

William raised his brow in question. While he thought the colouring a bit odd, it was natural and not the blond’s fault for its two-toned appearance. “Not at all, Mister Knox. You cannot help what was given you upon the day you were born. And in some odd round-about way, it suits you.”

"Doesn’t mean you don’t think it’s stupid." Ron muttered, turning around, "Which one looks better, Senpai?"

"The solid black one." Will replied crisply.

Ron glanced at the two and gave a nod, handing the black one to the shopkeeper. “I’ll be wearing it out,” he said, digging his wallet out of his pocket.

William rose from his chair and glanced out the shop window as he waited for Ronald to pay for his hat. Unexpectedly, a flash of light had him automatically shielding his eyes. Something from across the street was reflecting the sunlight and aiming it directly into the hat shop. He stepped back behind the hat display and carefully peered out against the glare. His eyes narrowed and then expanded. The gleaming light was bouncing off a scythe, held by a young reaper who was speaking with a couple whom he assumed was mortal.

"Ronald, are you sure you are happy with the decision you have made on the hat? Perhaps another style or color would suit your needs. We need not exit the shop just yet." Will inquired as he backed further into the shop and away from the window, his eyes never leaving the reaper across the street.

"I like this style best and you said the all-black one looked better." Ronald shrugged, handing over a few bills to the shopkeeper and placing the hat on his head, "Besides, I was late meeting with you, why suddenly tell me to take my time? Do you want a hat, too? Not like your hair stands out, and our funds are kinda limited."

Will was trying to do his best not to make the shopkeeper take an interest in them, beyond customers. But hiding and skipping around what needed to be said was not his usual way of handling things, and he was quite unsure how to inform the blond without making the mortal suspicious.

"A thought occurred to me that you may want other options in your attire. Options are always a good thing, like having various exits from a room. That is, in case of emergencies. One never knows what the day will bring…or who you will meet," Will replied, nudging the blond’s foot gently with the toe of his shoe. He was going for subtleness and failing miserably. "Right Mister Knox? Options?"

"…Were you drinking while waiting for me?" Ronald asked, clearly not catching on to what William was trying to tell him, "A hat’s a hat, I got one and we can be on our way back to the hotel to figure out what to do next."

"No, Mister Knox. I would very much like to see you try on a few more hats. We can afford to buy you another, and then you can have options, in case we meet a few old friends on our way back to the hotel…and they invite us to dinner or something." Will gritted his teeth, this time nudging the blond’s foot a tad harder than he intended.

"Ow! Why’d you kick me?" The blond lifted his foot and shook it.

Daring to glance at the blond, William replied. “Because Mister Knox, our friends maybe closer than you realize. Now, would you care to try on more hats or are you happy with your decision?”

"I…am…" Ronald frowned, "What are you trying to tell me, boss? We’ don’t have any friends to bump into for dinner."

"Oh, honestly!" Will sighed, then smiled up at the shopkeeper—who was now staring between the two of them. "I beg your pardon. The boy is a bit daft in the head. Please excuse us a moment."

Will turned Ronald from the counter and lowered his voice. “Look across the street. One of our friends is searching for someone—or something. He is stopping people on the street and showing them either a photograph, or a drawing. One must assume…do you now understand why we need you to have more options in your wardrobe, Mister Knox? That is, unless of course, you wish to speak with our friend across the street.”

"…Oh…crap." Ronald looked out the window and frowned, "I really don’t need another hat, though, but…Hey, Senpai!" With a grin, Ronald grabbed a bowler hat and shoved it on William’s head.

Will’s eyes looked straight up and then to the blond as he frowned. “I doubt that is necessary, Mister Knox. Hats do not suit me. Though we need a plan to get out of here without being found out; and the gentleman behind the counter is growing more suspicious by the minute.”

"You made it suspicious, I was simply buying a hat." Ron shrugged. "Plus, if hats don’t suit you, it’d be a good disguise for us to sneak out into a crowd and hurry on our way."

Glancing back at the shopkeeper, Will whispered. “You have a point. However, I am not wearing such a dastardly looking hat. Let me try that one on over there.”

Will pointed to a black gentleman’s cap, on a display head, upon the shelf next to Ronald’s shoulder. “That style is more to my liking, Mister Knox.”

"This one was closer—I could have grabbed that boater’s hat over there." he teased, pointing, "either way, you have hat-head now."

Grimacing, Will placed the cap on his head and looked in the mirror. “This one will do.”

He walked to the counter and pulled his billfold from his pocket and inquired the price. “How much do I owe you for this fine cap, and like the young man, I shall wear it out.”

Ronald snickered, “You’re right…hat’s aren’t you.” He laughed as his boss paid for the hat. “Well, a top hat, maybe, but that’s it.”

William turned around, having paid the man, and he tucked his billfold back into his coat pocket. The reaper was still standing across the street. The only luck for them was that he was on the opposite side of the street.

"Now, Mister Knox, I suggest we turn right as he seems to face the other direction when he speaks. We can go around the block, make our way back to the hotel and figure out our next course of action. What say you? Is it a plan?"

"Yeah, sounds good. Keep our heads down and move fast." Ronald agreed, walking to the door and looking out, "There’s a large crowd of people coming up the street. We can slip in with them."

"Good. Lets go." Will replied as the crowd came up in front of the shop.

Carefully, they stepped into the flow of people, moving like a school of fish down the boulevard. Upon reaching the next intersection, William and Ronald broke free of the group and darted down the next street and hurried back to the hotel. Once inside, they dashed up the stairs and locked themselves away in their rented room.

Ronald dropped his purchases on the table before walking over and flopping forward onto the bed. “Avoiding our own people sucks. And we need a better way of letting each other know things like that than you kicking me and telling me to buy more hats.”

Will removed his hat and hung it upon the hat rack just inside the door. He sighed as he turned the young reaper. He was right, but this was all new to the normally frank reaper. He did not like being forced to hide and he did not enjoy being cooped up and away from his things.

"My apologies, Mister Knox. I was not sure how to gain your attention, without blurting: ‘There is a reaper across the street. We need to sneak out of here,’ and not have the mortal getting involved with our affairs."

Ronald sighed, “How about we come up with some random name like…Philip. We could say ‘Philip is waiting for us’ when one of us spots a dispatch officer.” he suggested with a shrug.

"That could possibly work." Will nodded as sat down on the bed. "We should see about trying to get a hold of a few reapers. I would say our best bet would to start with Jeffries, Donaldson and Humphries. They all have a reason that would make them targets and I did see Donaldson’s and Humphries’ names on the list of reapers that are to be brought in for questioning."

"Must not be in A-B-C order, that list." Ron joked, "How do we contact them, though? What if the dispatch issued phones aren’t safe to use? We could get new phones if we sneak back into the realm, but their numbers would be the same."

Will looked up at Ronald and pulled out his standard issued cell. He flipped it open and began searching the list of contacts. Donaldson came up first. “I have each one listed. Though I am hesitant to try inside the hotel. If Dispatch traces it, it could lead them straight here.”

He got up and walked over to the window and looked out. They were not far from Hyde Park.

"Can you keep watch here, while I make my way to the park? I shall try from there and see if I can get in touch with either of them. The park offers many places to hide or escape and will not lead Dispatch back here, to the hotel, giving us another night to stay here."

"What should I do if I see trouble heading your way?" Ron asked with a nod. "Stay put? Go out after you?"

"Stay put." Will replied as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. "Don’t leave this room until I return."

"Unless you get caught," Ronald sighed, "Boss…don’t get caught," he added as an afterthought as the man walked back over to the door.

Will removed the cap from the rack and plopped it back on his head. He turned back to the blond and nodded. “I can assure you, I am not going to get caught. They appear to be sending younglings from the academy in search of scattered reapers. I know some tricks. Trust me. I will return in a short while.”

"You’d better." Ron got up and shuffled over to the window, "Like it or not, we only have each other right now."

"Why Mister Knox, I would never have dreamt you would be concerned for my safe return, our current predicament, notwithstanding." Will teased as he opened the door.

"Better being stuck with you than being alone while our realm falls to shit." the blond shrugged.

William stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him. Before heading to the staircase, he stood outside their room in the hallway and spoke under his breath. “I agree, Mister Knox. I agree.”

 

* * *

 

William moved briskly down the pavement, weaving between the hordes of pedestrians. His head remained down, but he was constantly searching the streets for other reapers from the corners of his eyes. None seemed to be about this part of town, but as he drew near to Hyde Park, a pair of young reapers stood at the main entrance. Again, they had what appeared to be photographs in their hands and were stopping each person who dared to enter the lavish greens.

Deciding it was far too dangerous to get past them and enter there, Will turned and headed along the length of the park. He sought a place where he could enter secretly and undetected. After walking nearly half the length of the park, he found a spot where he could slip in and no one would see him doing so. The crowds were thicker and much louder. The traffic was at a high level of activity and no one paid any attention when William separated from the crowds and using his scythe, snipped one of the bars free of the iron rail fence.

Once inside, he headed in the direction of the Serpentine River. He would be in the heart of the park and just a hop over to Kensington Gardens. The park was packed as usual, but he noticed a patch of trees vacant of any mortals and pulled out his cell. He was careful and discreet, not  wanting to attract a wondering mortal.

He quickly dialed Stirling Donaldson first. The number had been disconnected. Will looked around, hearing the voices of two young ladies approaching. He nodded and smiled as the passed. When they were no longer a threat, he flipped the phone back open and dialed Alan Humphries. He was hopeful when it began to ring, but then silence. No answer, no signal, no voicemail. Will stared down at the phone in dismay. He swallowed hard and looked up. Reapers.

He tucked his phone away and turned on his heel. Keeping his head low, he buried his hands in his pockets and headed for the bridge.

"This may have been a bad idea. I do hope you are staying put, Mister Knox. They are like vultures searching for the dead." Will muttered as he changed direction, heading into the lavish gardens of Kensington Gardens.

 

* * *

 

Alexander Jeffries was holed up in a backwater motel much like the one Alan had initially fled to when his phone rang. Unlike his fellow associates on the run, he’d managed to debug his work phone so that Dispatch couldn’t use it to track him. He jerked in his seat and nearly knocked his laptop off the table, startled by the sound. Blinking warily at the communication device on the bed, he tugged his shoulder-length auburn hair out of the ponytail binder to relieve the headache he was getting, and he combed his long bangs out of his eyes as he approached the phone.

"Now who’s this?" he muttered, prepared to let it redirect to the "dummy line" he’d set up in the network with his old voicemail on it.

William T. Spears came up in the ID. Jeffries’ eyes widened. He started to answer it immediately, but he paused. “Not so fast,” he scolded himself. Last he’d heard, Spears was still missing…presumed dead, along with Ronald Knox. He couldn’t be sure if this was William calling him or not.

He quickly thought up a means to test that and he answered the phone, sitting down on the bed. His knee was bouncing a mile a minute as he spoke into it—and he didn’t bother with a greeting. “Answer fast: What song were you singing when I found you smashed in the alley?”

"Oh, honestly! Must I answer that bloody question? I don’t have time for this," William sighed as he rolled his eyes and ducked under a low hanging tree on the outer rim of the gardens.

He was grateful to hear a familiar voice on the other end of the phone, but this was no time to be messing about. At any moment, he would be found out. He needed to get back to the hotel and the young reaper awaiting his return.

"Well, you _sound_ genuine, but I need that answer anyway.” Alex got up and started pacing. “Name that tune or I hang up.”

"Forty Fathoms Deep." Will whispered, barely audible. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

On the other line, Alexander breathed a sigh of relief and plopped back down on the bed. “So you’re still alive. B-but wait a minute…are you calling me from your work phone, boss?”

"It is all I have at the moment. Dispatch can track it, but they cannot listen in. Hence why I am running around in he middle Hyde Park. I don’t have much time. I have Knox, and we need to meet up with you. We only have one more night in our hotel. I can’t reach Humphries or Donaldson, either."

"Shhh!" Alex lunged for the little table in his room and he pinched up some salt he’d poured from the packet that came with the greasy hotdog he’d bought for his dinner, for lack of any other options. He tossed some of it over his shoulder and made a warding gesture—though his former superior could not see it.

"Don’t tell me where you are! Don’t tell me where you’re staying, either! Get the hell out of the park right now and lay low. Meet me at the alley you sang in tomorrow, after nightfall, and we’ll go from there, okay? Don’t use that phone again to call any other agency numbers ‘till we meet up. They’ve got bigger ears than you think, dig it?"

"Understood. I will be there and don’t you dare request that I sing that song in front of Knox, either. I have got to go. Until then." Will replied as he flipped the phone closed and hurried to one of the gates.

Alexander sighed and quickly set the latest call to divert to the dummy line. “Wow, I thought he was smarter than that…”

But then, chances were Spears didn’t get the opportunity to find out as much as he had before he had to split. He shook his head and grabbed the watermelon-flavored sucker he’d bought at the petrol station, sitting on the nightstand. He unwrapped it and stuck it into his mouth, before getting started on packing up what little he’d managed to grab before beating feet out of town.

 

* * *

 

Ronald lay in bed next to William, watching the man’s slumbering face as he let the minutes tick by, wanting to be sure the man was asleep before finally he made his move. He slipped out of bed and tip-toed over to the closet where William had his suit hanging. He checked the pockets, finally finding the man’s phone. He then grabbed his pants and slipped them on, holding the mobile phone between his teeth as he buttoned them up. Then he proceeded to sneak out of the hotel room, closing the door behind him, and propping it open with a rolled sock so that he could get back in without too much noise.

The blond sat down on the stairs between floors where his voice wouldn’t bother any of the sleeping guests. Hoping that no human would come out in the middle of the night for any reason, he flipped open the phone and punched in the number Eric had given him, still written on his arm under the sleeve of the shirt he’d warn to bed after the previous morning’s complaint about his nudity while sleeping.

Taking a deep breath and hoping he wasn’t making a foolish mistake, Ron pressed the send button and waited for an answer.

Alan jumped when his phone started to ring, and he fumbled to find it amongst the blankets in the back seat of his car. He’d grown tired of driving and hadn’t found a new hotel, so he chose to sleep in his car off the side of the road. Finding it, he flipped it open and held it to his ear without looking at the incoming number.

“Eric? What are you doing? It’s three in the morning…did something happen to you? Should I go back to get you?” He asked, slightly panicked.

“Whaa? No, it’s me, Ronald.”

Alan blinked as Ronald’s voice sank in. “Oh…sorry…I thought only Eric knew this number.”

“No, he ran into me earlier today. Gave me your number. Are you okay?”

Alan lay back down, resting his head against his pillow, “I have no idea. Everything’s been so confusing. Eric told me to run and find you and Spears, but…I had no idea where to look.”

“We aren’t in the realm anymore if that’s where you are looking.”

“I…have not left yet.” Alan admitted, “I’m driving to a hopefully more secure location to leave the Realm through a portal.”

“How soon can you get through? I’ll meet ya!”

“…How do I even know you are you, Ronald?” Alan groaned, rolling onto his side and rubbing his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I be me?” Ron frowned.

“I don’t know…you could have been captured.”

“I’d still be me, Senpai!” Ronald insisted, “But fine…Uh…I dunno…do you remember the time I got super drunk and forgot my way home and showed up on your doorstep? You made me strawberry pancakes the next morning.”

Alan nodded, hoping that Ronald was smart enough to have made a mistake in his story had he been captured. But it was all true, so maybe it was safe.

“I…if I abandon my car here, I can use my scythe to get to London now. Where should we meet? Not near where you are staying—just in case.”

“Uhh…Will said the park is crawling with reapers, so maybe we should not go there. How about we meet outside that little café place you like? The mortal one, I mean, not the one in our realm.”

“Be careful—and stay out of sight until I get there. I need to pack up a few things out of my car first.”

“Right! I’ll be waiting!” Ronald said before hanging up and, forgetting to let William know, he rushed down to make his way to the café a good ten blocks away from the hotel.

 

* * *

 

Undertaker was still awake, finding himself unable to rest before the dark hours of the morning, as usual. He was just about to pour himself a cup of soothing chamomile tea when he heard tapping at his barred kitchen window. He walked over to it and he pulled aside the curtain to find one of his raven friends perched on the sill outside, pecking at the glass. He unlocked the window and opened it, letting in the night air and allowing the bird to hop through the bars onto his wrist.

"So, what’s going on, my feathered friend?" he questioned, shaking his hair back to look the animal in the beady eye. The raven began to squawk and call, speaking a language that he understood better than anyone save their own kind, or the demons formed of their spiritual essence.

"My, how interesting. How many?"

He listened, and he scratched his chin with his free hand. “They’re after someone. Might this have anything to do with the reports I’ve been getting from elsewhere? I wonder.”

He considered the bird, and he carried him over to the bowl of berries he kept, just for them. “Well done. Help yourself and let yourself out when you’ve finished.”

He grinned, curious and intrigued. “It seems the sun might not rise without a bit of fun, after all.”

He needed a distraction from his thoughts concerning a certain redhead, the proposal he’d given him and the feel of those delectable lips against his own. He left his living quarters and went through the door to his shop, snatching up his hat on the way out. Locking up behind him, he reached out with his senses and he sniffed out the presence of death like a wolf seeking out its own kind. He looked up at the overcast skies and his white smile grew even wider.

"I wonder who they’re after," he whispered. "So intriguing."

Something had drastically changed within Dispatch, and he wanted to discover what exactly it was…and why some of their agents had been using firearms when they came to trouble him before Grell showed up.

 

* * *

 

Dry mouthed and thirsty, Will slowly stirred from his sleep. He yawned and sat up, stretched his arms and reached over to the nightstand where his eyeglasses lay. He removed them from the white painted and chipped wood. The moon was hanging high in the sky, illuminating Ronald’s bundled up form and his little hotel room. He slipped his glasses on and threw back the covers. Stumbling out of their bed, he headed straight for the privy.

Once inside, he closed the door and filled the cup he had left on the counter with the water pump. The water was cold and refreshing. It felt soothing to his parched lips and tongue. He guzzled the entire glass in one breath. Huffing, he leaned heavily on the counter, his head hanging as he took a couple of deep breaths to regain his composure. There was a tiny little window in the private bathroom behind him. The moon’s light reflected of the mirror on the wall. The light made the tiny space glow ethereally.

"What is this mess we have been thrown into? What is it you want? Why are you after us? What threat am I to you?" He whispered to himself as his mind raced with questions.

Sighing, the former manager turned and took a moment to relieve himself before returning to bed. A few moments later, he exited the tiny room and marched straight back to the comforting covers of his and Ronald’s shared bed. But as he sat down, he realized the blond was no longer in it.

"Ronald?" He breathed as he touched the spot where the blond had been sleeping earlier. "Damn it, Ronald! Where in the blazes of Hell have you gone to?"

 

* * *

 

"Well now, where are you blokes going?" wondered the mortician softly to himself as he bounded lightly over rooftops, keeping an eye on the Dispatch agents ahead of him. He could mask himself from them to a point, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to get too close and test his range. They were sharp folk after all, and he didn’t trust a one of them further than he could toss them.

He kept pace with them, and he circled around when he saw them moving in on one of the hotels of the mortal city. He hunkered down with a grin, and one of his feathered friends came flapping toward him. The raven landed on the roof beside him and he bent his silver head toward it, listening to its mournful chatter and nodding his head.

"Ahhh, so they’ve cornered a fugitive, have they? My, my…I wonder."

He saw a couple of agents heading his way across the rooftops, and he shooed the bird away and hopped to another rooftop, moving around back of the building. As he suspected, they had agents moving this way too…but he knew this town better than any Dispatch agent, by now.

"This ought to prove entertaining," he whispered to himself.

 

* * *

 

Upon discovering the blond missing from their room, Will had quickly donned his clothing and searched the hotel. Ronald was nowhere to be seen. He had rushed back to their room  and packed all that he could, into the travel bags they had procured the previous day. His gut said their whereabouts had been compromised, and he was terribly worried that either Ronald had been captured, or was dead. No matter what, Will knew he had to get out of there…and fast.

Fastening the last buckles on Ronald’s bags, Will paused and looked at the door to their room. He could hear footfalls shuffling down the hallway and the quiet murmur of voices.

_~Reapers. They know we are here. Damn it, Ronald, what did you do?!~_

Realizing there was no escape out the main entrance, Will went to the window and peered out. He could see no one below. The second floor was not to far up. For a reaper, the drop was nothing. As quietly as possible, he threw open the pane of glass and looked straight down. There was a wagon with straw in it—most likely to feed the horses that stayed in the hotel stables. He grabbed his bag and tossed it down into the wagon. It made no sound as it hit the dried straw. Next he tossed Ronald’s bag, and then the box of provisions they had scoured for and collected.

The footsteps were drawing nearer. He heard the agents creak open the door to the room next to theirs. Turning to the open window, he jumped. He landed softly on the ground, on his feet and fetched the two bags out of the cart. He tossed his over his right shoulder and Ronald’s over his left. He’d just retrieved the box from the wagon and ducked around a corner into a dark alley, when one agent stuck his head out of the window.

"Damn! They’ve escaped!" He exclaimed turning to his partner.

"Did you see them?"

"No. I can’t say when they left. But I am sure it was not long ago. The bed covers are rumpled and boss says it was only an hour ago when the call ended. Tell the others to head to the surrounding streets and spread out from the hotel," The agent ordered as he slammed his fist down on the windowsill.

"We will get you Spears." He promised through gritted teeth. "You can’t run forever."

 

* * *

 

Undertaker saw Agent Spears drop to the ground, followed by one of the agents he’d trailed poking his head out the window and exclaiming in frustration to his companion. Having taken note of the direction William went, the mortician traversed the rooftops in that direction, moving swift as death itself until he found him rounding a corner, looking around for a convenient place to go.

He wasn’t quite sure what possessed him to do it beyond curiosity, but he dropped down a few feet away from the Dispatch supervisor. “Psst,” he announced, quite prepared for the man to try and skewer him with that pole of his.

Will skidded to a stop. He squinted trying to make out the figure ahead of him. The voice was familiar, so was the silhouette.

"Undertaker?"

The mortician stepped out of the shadows a bit and he beckoned the younger reaper with a pale finger. “Looks like you’re in a spot of trouble, lad. I’m prepared t’ make a deal with you, in exchange for safe haven. I can get you out of here quickly, before your playmates can find you.” He grinned. “What do you say?”

Hearing approaching agents, Will nodded. “Can I trust that you aren’t working for them? That going with you won’t lead to my capture?”

That made the ancient cackle softly with amusement. “Dear boy, they’ve been trying t’ recruit me for months already. You ought to know better. I’ve no interest in returnin’ to the bosom of Dispatch…compromised or not.”

And he dearly wanted to hear this man’s account of what in bollocks had been going on with London Dispatch. He wondered if he was aware that Sutcliff appeared to be working with those who were now hunting him down, too.

"No time to waste," urged the Undertaker.

"Fine. Here take this. It’s heavy. Now, please, may we be on our way?" Will said handing over the box to the Undertaker.

He didn’t know if he could trust the retired reaper, but his current circumstances left him with little choice—and the man was right; there was no time to chitchat. He was a hot commodity and he needed someplace to hide, gather his thoughts and find Ronald. Handing over his fate to the eccentric ancient, Will followed the Undertaker’s lead.

The mortician obligingly took the box in one hand, and he created a portal with the other. It required more concentration than the average portal and it would lead directly to his shop—un-traceable by anyone that did not have an intimate understanding of the unique way he wove the planar energies to create it. He ushered William through first, and then he followed behind. The portal closed behind them, leaving no trace of himself, but stopping William’s pursuit cold once they tracked his aura signature to that spot.

* * *

-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

"Thank you." Will said as he stepped into the shop of the Undertaker. Exhausted from his quick and frantic escape, he dropped the bags onto the old wooden floorboards. He took a deep breath and turned to the ancient reaper. "Unfortunately, I need to locate Mister Knox. He was missing when I awoke. He may return to the hotel, only to be taken into custody."

"Hmm." Undertaker eyed the two bags thoughtfully, before setting the box he’d been given onto his desk. "So the impulsive greenie is in trouble too, eh? Who else, Mr. Spears? Who else have they turned on, and why…if you even know?"

Will shook his head as he looked down and adjusted his glasses. “I honestly can’t say. I happened upon something in the Dispatch main frame. Mister Knox was an unfortunate victim of Happenstance. As for others not involved, we are currently trying to get in contact with those whom we trust. I am afraid Stirling Donaldson has been taken care of. I fear the same for Mister Alan Humphries. We do not know for sure who is and is not involved. Nor do I know where Mister Knox has gotten off to.”

"Goodness," muttered the Undertaker, suddenly troubled. He didn’t much care what happened to the majority of Dispatch, but there were a few notable exceptions. Perhaps the things he’d gotten wind of so far were spreading further than he’d initially thought. "Haven’t the two of you—your little blond friend, that is—formed a link to keep up with each other, then? You could use that t’ track one another down in times of trouble."

"A link?" Will looked up puzzled.

Undertaker nearly gaped at him, but then he remembered how things had changed since his day and why that very thing had been part of the reason he’d left. “So they don’t even teach younger generations _that_ much, now? It’s no wonder the place is going to pot. The shortest explanation I can offer, Mr. Spears, is that two partnered reapers form a sort of spiritual link to better keep up with one another while out doing their assignments. It allows them to track each other and sense when one another is in danger. Some reapers take it further than that when they marry, but the basic link serves a much more practical purpose to our kind than romantic enhancement.”

He considered the problem. “I’d have thought if the two of you were on the run together, you’d have thought to do that by now…but they obviously never saw fit to teach you. Pity. Seems we’ll have to wing it. What do you know about Mr. Knox, hmm? Where can you think of that he might go at this hour, without telling you?”

"Regrettably, we are not aware of such abilities. And as for your other question, Mister Knox and I are not close. I can never understand his impetuousness. He rarely thinks things through. However, in the past two days he has proven he can use that head of his." Will knelt down and began to go through his bag. He began to frantically search, dumping things all over the floor. He reached over and grabbed Ronald’s bag. "Damn it!"

Undertaker tilted his head, grinning in spite of himself at the normally stoic reaper’s outburst. “Something amiss, chap?”

"My cell, it’s gone. I am sure I did not leave it in my room. It had been in my coat pocket and I stuffed that in my bag." He looked up at the Undertaker. His eyes grew round and then narrowed. "Knox!"

"Knox took your cells?" Undertaker was a bit puzzled by that, not understanding the jargon. "Funny, he doesn’t seem particularly scientific to me. The rest of what you just said makes no bloody sense ‘t all to me. You’ve got a plethora of cells, my lad, and to stuff a single one in your pocket would require finesse and a microscope _much_ more powerful than anything I’ve ever seen.”

William rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Cell is short for cellular phone. It is a device on which we now communicate to keep in touch and communicate with one another. It is a scientific advancement on the mortal telephone. I one day believe they will discover the technology.”

"Oh." Undertaker recalled the speaking devices he’d seen Dispatch agents use, and he smiled. " _Oh! Those_ talky things! Ahh, I wasn’t sure what you call ‘em. But why would Mr. Knox steal yours, then? Mayhap to turn you in? You _did_ say he was gone when you awoke, and those agents came for you shortly afterwards, yeah?”

"I highly doubt that. He would be foolish to try. They would kill him as soon as they laid hands on him." Will explained as he began rummaging once more through Ronald’s bag. "They will assume he saw what I saw, since he was in my office at the time of my discovery and was nearly killed along with me. If he were so foolish to do so, the first opportun—"

Will froze, his mouth falling open as he opened Ronald’s toiletry bag.

Undertaker leaned over him curiously, peering over his shoulder. The objects he saw made more sense to him than cellular phones, and he chuckled. “Condoms, eh? And just what were you planning to do with your li’l blond friend, Willy?”

Shocked and appalled at once, Will turned bright red. He slung the little bag back into the Ronald’s main travel bag and stuttered. “Plan-planning…? Ronald and I…no. We just slept together. I mean in our hotel room. No, I mean we had to share a room we didn’t….I mean we did, but it was not like that.”

Tickled, the mortician muffled laughter behind a long sleeve before replying. “So you’ve slept together…in the hotel room…but it wasn’t like that. Well, I might be an old fart, but I’m still up t’ date enough to know that if two reapers are carrying around something like that…well, they don’t plan to do much sleeping.”

He nudged him with an elbow, still bent over his shoulder. “Get it?”

Will bent his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. The room had grown quite hot all of the sudden and he was feeling light-headed. “I do believe I am going to pass out, now.” He stated as he started to sway.

Undertaker’s nose scrunched up. He’d known ladies to pull that trick, but never the gents. “You can’t be serious…can you? It’s only—oh, bugger!”

He caught the brunet as he teetered, easing him to the floor before he could clunk his noggin on it. “My, my…the mere thought of relations with that boy is enough t’ get you bothered enough to swoon, eh? Or was it my suggestion that he might have betrayed you?”

The ancient felt a stirring of…pity? He frowned briefly. He’d once cared for the youth of his kind…liked to take them on outings once in a while, bring them treats. Some part of him must still harbor that. He despised Dispatch, but he didn’t particularly hold animosity towards any of the agents. They were all just following directives; like lambs to the slaughter.

"What’s say we put you to rest for a bit," he offered to the unconscious brunet in his arms, and he lifted him and carried him to the door leading into his residency. "Could by my feathered friends can find your wayward heartthrob for us, yeah?"

* * *

 

Ronald sighed, hiding in the alley behind some crates as he waited for Alan, shivering slightly at the chill of the late August night. A cover of clouds had settled over London and a few cold raindrops started to fall, peppering the cobblestone with dots of moisture—and leaving Ronald hoping that Alan would hurry before he got drenched. But he knew it was tricky. Alan was going to form his own portal to Mortal London, and doing so took a lot of energy. More so if Alan was going to make it untraceable, which he could or could not know how to do. It was an advanced portal technique, after all.

Finally, a portal opened and a figure carrying a few bags stepped through, the portal closing behind him. “Ron?”

“Alan-senpai!” Ronald hurried out to greet Alan, “Boy, I’m glad to see you!”

“We need to move—quickly. There is a chance that some reapers may be close by and sensed the portal open here.” Alan said, handing Ron one of the bags he carried.

“Right. This way. Spears and I have a hotel room. Follow me.”

The younger reaper lead the brunet back towards the hotel, the two taking care to keep out of sight of both reapers and humans—just in case. But as they grew closer to the hotel, they were slowed by more and more reaper agents combing the area, searching.

“Where did they go?” One reaper snarled, annoyed by the situation, “They can’t just vanish!”

“Well their hotel room is deserted.” Another answered, “But at least we can confirm that Spears and whoever that other one was are still at large. They aren’t dead. We can at least report that.”

“Yeah, I’d consider that to be bad news, Whalen. The boss’ll have our heads.”

The reapers disappeared around the corner and Ron let out the breath he’d been holding, “Shit, they found our hotel.” He cursed.

“Sounds like Spears escaped, though.” Alan nodded, “So that’s good. We’d only need to find him.”

“Yeah, but how the Hell are we supposed to do that? Spears didn’t even know I left to get you!”

Alan turned a glare at Ron, “That was incredibly stupid of you, Ronald.”

“He was sleeping! I didn’t want to bother him. Besides, I only had your number because of Eric, and Spears doesn’t think Eric can be trusted so he’d get angry if he knew I talked to him!”

“Are you five?” Alan scolded, and then he sighed and leaned back against the wall to think, “We need a secure place to stay until we figure out what to do. I…guess we could try Legendary Death.”

“What, the old kooky undertaker guy?” Ron frowned, “Can we trust him?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but he isn’t part of Dispatch, so there is a chance he has nothing to do with this…take over or whatever it is. Eric told me a little about it, but not everything.”

Ronald sighed and nodded, “But if he _is_ working with them, good luck getting away. The geezer is in a league of his own.”

“It’s worth a try,” Alan shrugged, picking back up his bags that he hadn’t entrusted to Ronald and nodding, “Lets go.”

* * *

 

Undertaker stood on the roof of his shop, speaking with two of his ravens. He was giving them a mental image of the reaper he wanted them to search for, preparing to send them off to convey his wishes to their fellows and begin scouring the city. It therefore came as a surprise to him when he heard someone rapping hastily on his door below, and when he peeked over the edge of the roof he found none other than Ronald Knox waiting there—along with Alan Humphries.

"My, my," whispered the ancient with a grin. "How very opportune!"

Without a moment’s hesitation, he jumped off the roof and landed right in front of them. “Hi, hi.”

Ronald jumped, stumbling back, “D-don’t do that so suddenly!” he scowled.

Alan, however, didn’t seem too surprised, “We are sorry for interrupting you, sir.” He bowed his head respectfully, “But we find ourselves in a bit of trouble. Ronald’s lost William Spears and there are people pursuing him that mean him harm.”

"I didn’t loose him!" Ron huffed, "I knew exactly where I left him."

Tickled at the coincidence, Undertaker gestured toward his shop door. “Why don’t you lads come in, before we discuss this? Seems I’m running a ‘lost and found’ on the side.” He chuckled and opened the door, stepping aside for the two agents. “Well? Are you going to come in, or would you rather wait for the next Dispatch patrol to come by and spot you?”

"Well…" Ron said, looking back over his shoulder.

"Ron, I doubt he’s working with them." Alan encouraged, pushing Ron in through the door.

"No," said the mortician with a white Cheshire grin. He closed and locked the door. "They’re working for _me._ ”

At the alarmed expressions on their young faces, he couldn’t keep a straight face. He snickered and flapped a sleeve. “Kidding, chaps…I’m only funning with you. Of _course_ I don’t work for or with those pretentious gudgeons, and I’ve got no plans t’ change that. Now, on the matter of your missing associate…funny thing, that. He ran into a spot of trouble at a hotel and came home with me to avoid Shinigami authorities. Isn’t that lovely? He was looking for you, too. He had no idea Mr. Humphries was with you, apparently.”

He looked at Alan. “So, they came after you as well, did they?”

"Kinda." Ron set down the bags he was carrying and rubbed the back of his head, "They are surrounding the hotel and we couldn’t get close. They’re looking for the boss. We figured he got away and Alan-senpai suggested we try coming here."

"Spears didn’t know Ronald was going to meet with me." Alan said, also setting down his bags, "This mess could have been avoided. But I’m glad to hear that Mister Spears is safe."

"Hmm. I would love to know exactly what’s going on with Dispatch. It seems to be spread out everywhere, in fact," mused the ancient. "Well, you blokes can’t go out there again right now, and your supervisor—well, _former_ supervisor—is laid up in th’ back. Seems he got a case of the vapors when he found some toys in your bag.”

He looked at Ronald with a mischievous gin.

"What are you talking about?" Ronald frowned, "What toys? I barely have anything with me. We had to run so quickly."

"Why the cock sheaths, of course," obliged Undertaker shamelessly. "He found a roll of ‘em. Poor fellow got so flustered that he passed right out."

"What do you mean cock—oh— _oh_. Those. I forgot those were in my pocket.” Ron chuckled and hopped up onto a coffin, sitting on it’s lid, “Grell-senpai gave them to me as a gag gift when he found out I had plans to go to a big party.”

The Undertaker huffed a laugh, but it brought his mind back to the redhead and he sobered a bit, recalling his offer and the bit of flirtation they’d exchanged during his visit. He looked at Ronald with a sigh. “You know he’s on their side, don’t you? He came to me just recently with an offer from Dispatch. I turned it down like always, but they’re doing their best to snatch up as much power as they can. Couldn’t say what they gave him in exchange for it, but you ought to be careful, when it comes to him.”

Ron looked down, “William-senpai said we shouldn’t trust him…I just…Grell’s _my_ senpai, you know? He trained me and everything…he’s like a brother—sister—depends on his mood. It sucks having to…not trust him anymore…”

"Mm, life can be more than a bit unfair," agreed the mortician, "and it could be your mentor has good reason for falling in with their crowd. Until y’ know what that reason is and know he won’t give you away to his new associates, best t’ play it cautious, though. Now, let’s go check on the puritan and see if he’s come too yet, eh? I’m sure he’ll be relieved to see you both—even if he shows all the expression of a glacier."

"He’ll be angry at me. That’s the only emotion he knows. And we’ll see a lot of it."

"And you’ll deserve it." Alan patted his shoulder, "You should have been a little smarter about it. You should have let him know you were going to call me."

"Yeah, doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. No one yells like he does. Sucks."

Undertaker shrugged. “He might, but right now, the three of you have bigger matters to worry about than your little ‘oops’. Follow me to my living space, lads. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

 

 

When they made it into his master bedroom, the mortician stood over William’s resting form pensively for a moment. Finally shrugging at his other guests, he poked the raven-haired Shinigami.

"Rise and shine, Mr. Spears. I’ve someone with me that wants t’ see you. _Two_ someone’s, in fact. Seems I’ve picked up a bonus stray this evening.”

"Back to your own side, Mister Knox." Will grumbled, still asleep as he felt the mortician’s nail pierce him.

"Geeze, wake up hugging the guy like a pillow one time and he never forgives you." Ronald smirked and walked over to the bed and bent over to whisper in his ear, "At least I’m not naked this time, Senpai."

"Mister…Knox, please-not poke…me further. ‘tay on yer own side." Will hugged his pillow closer.

"Maybe we need to try something different." Ron said, sitting up, "Who wants to kiss the sleeping ice-king?"

"Seems he wants _you_ to kiss him, chap,” suggested Undertaker with a smirk, “considering how flustered he got when he found your goodies. Of course, Mr. Humphries is a comely fellow too. Care t’ do the honors, Alan?”

Alan held up his hands, “That is rather inappropriate, and possibly unappreciated.” he said, shaking his head. Besides, if he were to try such a thing, it’d be with Eric, not William.

"It was a Joke, Al." Ron laughed, grabbing the pillow and yanking it out from under William’s head and then smacking it over Will’s face, "Senpai! Up! My turn to be the hard-ass about it."

"Ahh…" William winced as his head smacked against the firm mattress. His eyes squeezed shut from the abrupt movement and impact of his head colliding with the mattress. "What? Mister Knox?"

He blinked a few times. The blond’s yellow blur first appeared over his head, followed by silver and brown.

"Who goes there? Undertaker?"

He squinted, trying to figure out who was hovering above him. He was confused, and then he remembered the Undertaker had found him, but he could not place the brown blur. Now wondering if the yellow blur was indeed Ronald, Will scrambled from under the blanket and pressed his body against the headboard. “Where am I? My glasses! Where are my glasses? I cannot see.”

"Calm down lad," chuckled the mortician. He plucked Williams glasses up from the bedside table where he’d left them, and he handed them over to him. "Here are your peepers. Didn’t think it’d be too smart to leave you sleeping in ‘em, is all."

"Well, that worked." Ron grinned, "You look like a little girl afraid of the boogeyman, Senpai!"

William took the glasses from the Undertaker’s hands and slipped them onto his face.

"Thank you." He nodded and looked at the other two reapers staring back down at him. Sighing in relief, Will sat up straight and acknowledged the other two. "Mister Knox. Mister Humphries. I am not sure what has happened here or how you two came about this place. Could someone please explain what has happened? I would also like to know how I ended up in this bed."

"You passed out after we flipped you out of the frying pan," said Undertaker with a shrug, "So I put you t’ bed. I’ll leave the three of you t’ talk while I make us some tea."

He left them alone then, putting off his own questions until they could get their heads sorted out a bit.

"Yeah…why?" Ron frowned, pulling out the phone, "Still have it—I didn’t loose it or anything."

Will took a deep breath and released it.

"Do you not remember what I said about using it in the hotel? Honestly, did it not occur to you that is why the place was crawling with reapers, upon your return? I barely escaped with _our_ belongings. If not for the Undertaker…never mind. Mister Humphries, I am glad to see you are alive and well.”

"I was trying to help!" Ronald insisted, "I was careful!"

”’ _Careful_ ’, Mister Knox?” William snapped as he climbed from the bed.

Righteously pissed, he rounded on the youth. “Using that phone, in that hotel, drew the hounds to the foxes’ den. It was careless and thoughtless. You put us in grave danger. You should have told me you had a way to contact Mister Humphries…the moment I returned and explained I was unable to reach him. I had no idea where you had gotten off to. If you were caught, dead or what have you.”

"I didn’t know! What, is the phone bugged or something? Then why even keep it? Why didn’t you throw it out? I didn’t even know if the number would get a hold of Alan." Ron snapped back.

"Mister Knox, do you never pay attention to what I tell you? I made it clear that our phones are traceable—a fail-safe in emergencies. Hence why I said I was going to the park to make calls. I was not about to lead the hounds to our whereabouts. For the sake of the dead, Ronald, start paying attention." Will scolded as he adjusted his glasses and turned to the brunet.

"Mister Humphries, I must inquire…Mister Slingby, have you spoken with him recently?"

"I-!" Alan felt his cheeks heat, yet he cast his gaze downwards, "Yes…I have…"

"And, Mister Humphries? Can he be trusted?" Will prodded, both of his brows raising in question.

"I…don’t know, to be honest." Alan admitted, biting his lip, "He…is with them, but…he’s the one that got me out."

Surprised by what the brunet just admitted, Will grabbed him by the shoulders. “He is working with them, yet helped you? Tell me honestly; do you trust him? It is very important. Will he be in contact with you?”

"He said…he joined them." Alan nodded, "Grell, too. He told me only to trust you and Ronald. That the two of you escaped. They want me, too, but he didn’t want them getting to me and—I just don’t know. I asked him to run with me, but…I think…he’s chasing another fairy tale."

He sighed. “They promised him a cure for me.” He had no reason to refuse the more basic information, and he would be truthful about it, he decided.

"A cure?" Will repeated stepping back and turning from the brunet. "Did he say why Grell joined? Or what they are planning on doing? Do you have any idea why they want you?"

Alan shook his head, “It was hard enough to get him to tell me this much.” He looked down and clenched his fists, “I wish he’d have come with me.”

Will turned back around and softened his tone. “I am sure he has his reasons. However, if he is willing to hide you, and he is doing all of this for a cure, I am sure he is not completely committed to them. There maybe a chance to sway him to help us. Do you have a way to contact him?”

"I do…kind of…We both got new phones so that we can’t be tracked on them when we speak, but he doesn’t always answer his or have it on."

Sighing, Will nodded, “Good, that is at least something. I shall be meeting with Mister Jeffries, Whom was the only reaper I could trust and get through to. He plans to remove the tracer from my phone, so as it can be used without our whereabouts being tracked.”

"You didn’t tell me you got in touch with him." Ron spoke up after pouting in silence for being scolded. "I would have waited to call Alan’s new number until then!"

"I did." Will replied. "I mentioned that…I take that back. I am rather afraid it slipped my mind. Huh, I apologize, Mister Knox. I meant to inform you that Jeffries was with us; out of Dispatch."

Still pouting slightly, the blond smacked the back of Will’s head and shoulder with the pillow in his hands, “So it’s partially your fault for this mess! Not all mine!”

"I beg your pardon, Mister Knox? My fault? You did not even offer to share with me that you had a way to contact…Now you hold on there, how were you able to contact Mister Humphries in the first place? He has a new phone. He just admitted that. Explain yourself, Mister Knox. Just how in the Hell did you gain access to that number?" Will rounded on the blond as he realized that Ronald had a new number for Alan, and that he had withheld that information from him.

"Well…Eric gave it to me," Ron mumbled, "but if you’d told me about Jeffries, I would have waited and then we’d still be in the hotel!"

“ _Excuse_ me!” Will narrowed his eyes on the blond. “Eric gave you the number? And just when were you planning on telling me this? When did he give it you? And no more lies or secrets, Mister Knox. I want to know everything, right now.”

"Today—or, yesterday, I guess…" Ronald shrugged, opting not to point out how red the man’s face seemed to be getting.

Ready to explode and in desperate need to get away from the blond, Will walked to the door and opened it, only to jump back, surprised as a heap of Silver and black fell at his feet.

"What the bloody Hell were you doing? Listening through the damn door?" He shouted as she glowered at the retired reaper.

Undertaker picked himself up from the floor, chuckling. “Seems a bit obvious, doesn’t it? I was listening in.” He straightened to his full height and he tapped a long, black nail against his grinning white teeth.

"Careful now Spears…I’m currently the only buffer between you and your enemies."

"Told you he’d be mad at me." Ron sighed, looking at Alan, who shrugged.

"You should have told him the truth right away."

Will’s eyebrow began to twitch violently. He was a volcano about to erupt. He could feel the heat boiling beneath his collar. If he didn’t get out of that room, there would be Hell to pay.

"Gentlemen, I must excuse myself. Undertaker, kindly please step out of my way?" He said, tugging on his waistcoat.

"Mister Spears, you shouldn’t go outside alone." Alan said, standing up, "It’s dangerous."

"I do not plan on retreating to the outdoors, Mister Humphries." Will snapped back as he shoved past the Undertaker and stormed down the hall. He headed straight to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Alan blinked, taken aback. He had been ready to suggest he go with William to try and help the man calm down about Ronald’s actions, but he hadn’t expected to be snapped at himself. “Oh…”

"Well, my goodness, that was rude," huffed Undertaker. Without a word or a thought, he yanked open the bathroom door and grabbed William by the collar. "Come ‘ere, nugget."

He suddenly pulled the supervisor out of the bathroom like a puppy by the scruff of its neck, and he practically tossed him onto the bed, nearly bowling over Ronald and Alan in the process. He grinned down at the sputtering brunet in a less than friendly manner, and he spoke in a low voice.

"Never run me over in my own home, boy. You can have your little fits with your friends, but you’re a guest here, and you’re fortunate I don’t toss y’ out on your rear for little spit of rudeness you just displayed."

William looked up, shocked, his lips parted and dry. He had never thought he would ever be removed so violently from someplace and then tossed onto a bed by the Undertaker. The former reaper was quite frankly vehement with him, and so there he sat on the Undertaker’s guest bed, trembling.

"My deepest apologies, Undertaker. I meant no disrespect to you or your hospitality." He apologized, bowing his head. "Please forgive me?"

The ancient nodded, accepting the apology. “That’s better. Now work things out with your companions whilst I get the tea poured. I think we should all talk about this, because I have news to impart to you as well. Come into the parlor and have some tea and a sit-down with me, when you’ve sussed out your personal issues.”

Ronald was biting his lip hard, holding himself back from making a wise-crack about the retired reaper man-handling William. As tempting as it was, he knew it wouldn’t help things get better.

Alan frowned and gently touched William’s shoulder, “Sir? Are you alright?”

"Y-yeah, you look like you thought you saw Grell-senpai do his work early!" Ronald chuckled, slapping a hand over his mouth when Alan shot him a warning look.

William looked up at the blond and growled. “Shut it, Mister Knox. I should hate for us to be thrown out the front door, due to your insolence, provoking my temper. I do not have the patience to deal with your lack of professionalism right this moment. You would be wise to think before you speak, just now.”

"Hey—you were the one to push the geezer." Ron pointed out, "You’re over-reacting. Sure, I made a mistake, but you could have told me your plans, too."

"I did not deliberately withhold the information from you as you chose to do with me, Mister Knox." Will stood and towered over the blond. "May I also remind you that because you chose not to confide in me that you had a way to contact Mister Humphries and took it upon yourself to contact him yourself, you put our lives in danger."

"I didn’t want you to be mad at me for talking to Eric! You told me not to trust him."

"Regardless, you should have told me. What if he had been setting us up and not helping us? You have both confirmed he is working with Dispatch," Will replied, sighing. His eyes closed of their own accord and he shook his head. "I will not accept anymore secrets, from either one of you."

"Hey, you’re a scary guy." Ron shrugged, "I wanted to get Alan-senpai on my own to avoid the yelling."

Will opened his eyes and looked straight at the blond. “And you believe you were successful in this endeavor? I ask because it appears you have failed with this ideal.”

"URRRH!" Ronald growled in frustration, reaching up and running his hands through his blond hair, "Yes, because I’m not entitled to one mistake. I know I messed up! How many times do you want me to admit I made a stupid mistake? At least I apologized and we’re all safe again, so why don’t you just…grow the hell up!" He marched to the door, "I’m going to go help with tea or whatever."

Will sighed and looked to Alan. “I am sorry, Mister Humphries, for snapping earlier. I am tired and a little in edge. However, that does not dismiss my behavior towards you. You were obviously unaware that Mister Knox had not disclosed certain things to me. Please, accept my apology.”

"It’s alright, sir." Alan reassured him, "Though you both need to take some time to calm down."

"Yes." Will nodded. "I must agree. Will you please excuse me? I need to splash some water upon my face."

Alan nodded, “Of course.”

Will stepped from the room and returned to the restroom, where he proceeded to splash cold water to his face. He was exhausted from all the excitement and staying alert since his and Ronald’s escape from Dispatch. His emotions were in overdrive, and the secrets and lies uncovered had him beyond his point of control. He had nearly had them all thrown out and captured. He squeezed his eyes shut and began taking deep breaths. A moment, just a moment to catch his composure. Then he would be his usual self.

* * *

 

While the younger reapers chatted, Undertaker prepared the tea and got on the phone with some contacts. He saw Ronald come through the door leading to his living quarters, wearing an uncommonly sour look on his young face. The mortician finished writing down the information he’d procured and he gave the blond a smile.

"I assume by that sour-puss expression things didn’t go all that peachy with your frigid companion, eh?" He put the phone back on its cradle and stood up, collecting the piece of paper with his scrawling handwriting on it and folding it up.

Ronald sighed, “Yeah…I mean, I know I messed up, but the man won’t even listen to my apology or anything. It seems I can never do anything right when it comes to him and that he hates me…” sighing, the usually rowdy young reaper sat down in a kitchen chair and folded his arms on the table, flopping his face forward into them, “I don’t know why I even try anymore.”

"If he hated you," reasoned the mortician, "he wouldn’t have been so worried about finding you after escaping the hotel and comin’ here. Chin up. It might seem like th’ world’s dropped out from under you right now, but exile does get a bit easier. Spears was already uptight before this happened, so just give him a bit of time t’ sort himself out. In the meantime though, I have some information to share with you all. Why don’t you serve the tea while I go and collect your companions, hmm?"

Ron sighed and nodded as he pushed himself up and walked over to the tea tray. “I know how they take their tea…but how do you?” he asked, pouring the hot beverage into the clean beakers that Undertaker had gotten out.

"Four lumps of sugar and a bit of cream," answered the Undertaker. "Set that up in the parlor, lad. I’ll be in there shortly with the other strays."

He went to the back of the living space to find Alan still in his room. Spears wasn’t around, though. “Don’t tell me Chilly Willy decided to take off,” he said with a slight frown.

Alan shook his head, “Bathroom.”

"Ah, well then…come into the parlor with me. I think we all need to have a chat and you gents need to figure out what you’re going to do next."

He walked back down the hall and he knocked on the bathroom door. “Mr. Spears, when you finish up in there, come and join us in the parlor. No more bickering, either. You lot can’t afford to be at each other’s throats right now.”

Will turned his head and looked at the door. He was just drying his face off when the mortician called for him. He felt somewhat better as he replied, “I shall be out momentarily, Undertaker.”

Ronald set the tea at the table in the parlor. Honey and milk in Alan’s, just honey in his, a whole lot of sugar with a little cream in the Undertaker’s, and cream and one lump of sugar in William’s. Then he sat down and waited for the three older reapers to join him—hopefully with William’s yelling voice left behind.

Placing the towel back on the rack, Will picked his glasses up from the sink counter and placed them back upon face. He looked to the mirror and sighed heavily.

"Patience. You need to have patience with the boy."

Confidence restored, William walked to the door and stepped out from his hiding place he walked down the hall and stopped in the entryway to the parlor. He took in the sight of the three reapers awaiting him, and he cleared his throat before taking a seat.

"I feel I must apologize for my behavior just now, in the bedroom. I declare that if we are to work together we must not keep secrets. We must not lie. And we must be aware of each other’s boundaries. Are we in agreement?"

Undertaker looked at the younger reapers seated near him, and he made a gesture towards William. “Anytime now, chaps. Time’s a-wasting and you’ve got plans to make. Kiss and make up…or at least come to an agreement.”

"I’m fine as long as there is no yelling…particularly at me…" Ronald shrugged.

Undertaker gave the boy a glance through the fringe of his bangs. By reaper standards, Ronald was still quite young. Barely in his twenties, he imagined. It was a lot for someone of that age to take. “Nobody yells from here on out,” he decided aloud. “You blokes settle all your information now, and when you’re finished I’ve got something to share with you that might help out.”

William sighed and adjusted his glasses before looking at the brunet. “And you Mister Humphries? Are you too in agreement with this?”

Alan nodded, “I believe I have told you both everything I know. But I will say something if I remember more. Most of my conversations with Eric lately was me begging him to tell me what was going on more than him telling me to run.” he sipped his tea from his beaker.

"Well as I mentioned, I have been able to contact Mister Jeffries and are scheduled to meet up with him this evening," explained William. "Regrettably, I was unable to contact Mister Donaldson. Whether this means he was captured or killed remains to be seen."

Will paused and looked over at the Undertaker. Curious, he asked: “And you, Undertaker, what is your opinion or thoughts? You are offering us shelter, so may I ask where your allegiances stand? Whether you wish to be involved or not, they will see fit to drag you into these affairs.”

Undertaker spread his hands and fingers. “They’re free t’ keep trying. I have no allegiance to either the usurpers _or_ the reapers resisting them. Still, I’m not against you gents, either.”

He unfolded the piece of paper he’d written on earlier and he handed it over to William. “There’s a contact for you, in Denmark. You lot need to get out of London; that’s for certain. Ireland’s out of the question as a sanctuary for you and so’s Scotland; they’ve taken over the Dublin branch entirely, as well as Glasgow. Paris is in a similar state, as is Berlin. You _could_ try Portugal but from what I’ve gathered, they’re fighting a losing battle too. Denmark is your closest and best bet right now, so you’d best see about gathering what you can and getting your carcasses there as soon as possible.”

He nodded at the paper he’d handed to William. “I’ve an old friend in Copenhagen that can help you find sanctuary for a while. Seems that branch hasn’t gone down yet, and some folk are working to secure it against this takeover. They’ve already taken in refugees from the branches that have fallen under control of this regime. Funny thing; these folks who’ve been moving in on Shinigami Dispatch society are calling themselves ‘Revivalists’. Looks as though they’re trying to bring in the old totalitarian system we used to run on when I was still an agent…which incidentally makes Dispatch even less appealing t’ the likes of me.”

William accepted the paper and unfolded it. He read it over as the Undertaker spoke and nodded looking up at the others.

"We shall stay here untill nightfall. Everyone get some rest. We will meet up with Jeffries at the appointed hour. Have everything ready for departure before we leave. We shall collect him and head straight out from there."

The only question on Will’s mind was if it would be wise to port over or sneak over using mortal transportation. Both were risks. “Undertaker, give me your honest opinion. Would we be wise to traverse by ship or portal out of London?” He inquired, turning his head and looking the legendary reaper in the eye.

"Mmm, good question," mused the ancient. "If you travel by ship it’s going to be slower and you lads run a deeper risk of them tracking you and boxing you up on the boat. Travel by portal and you’ll be exhausted…unless you pool your energies together. It’s a long distance for one reaper to make a tunnel, for certain."

He smirked. “And you could all use some special lessons before you’re on your way. If you want my advice, you’ll portal from here in my shop, where they won’t be able to track you. Collect this friend of yours and bring him here before you go gallivanting to Denmark. You need to learn how t’ form links with each other to keep track, when your fancy doohickeys can’t be used or fail you.”

"What do you mean, links?" Ronald frowned, looking at the retired reaper.

"It’s an old technique reapers used to use." Alan explained, "There are a lot of things reapers have the power to do so, but it is no longer taught in classes."

"Then how do you know about it? You aren’t all that much older than me."

"I spent a lot of extra time in the library, Ron." Alan shrugged, "I found old text books."

Undertaker nodded. “Indeed. Too bad you aren’t all as studious as Mr. Humphries…but I suppose one would have to be a real bookworm to dig deep enough in the library t’ know about it. Not to worry, lads. I’ll teach you how to form those links before you depart London. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

"You believe then that it is wise to fetch Mister Jeffries and return to your shop?" Will questioned, and then he sighed. "I had nearly forgotten you mentioned something earlier about linking. I suppose if you are willing to teach us, we should invest in the ability. As you say, it may provide us with an advantage, as well as a way to keep track of one another. At this stage we cannot afford to loose contact with one another."

"Good then," said the Undertaker with a nod. "I think that’d be best in this current situation. Bear it in mind though; I’m still not taking sides. I’m just helping out a couple of lost souls like myself."

"Understood." William replied as he nodded to the ancient reaper.

"All right, how’s about we take care of getting you lads fed, for now?" offered the mortician. "I’ve no idea when you ate last, but if any of you are hungry I’ve got a full pantry. Get cleaned up if you like and make use of the bed…or one of the empty coffins. Er…not the ones against the wall or my own, mind. You’ll find the former two already occupied and I’m a stingy buggar about sharing my personal coffin. Three of you could probably fit in the bed together, though."

He looked at Alan and grinned. “Or maybe even all four, considering Mr. Humphries’ size. He could curl up at your feet like a little brown kitten, I’ll bet.”

Alan’s face and ears flushed red, “I’m sure we will be able to work out our sleeping accommodations without resorting to such measures, sir. I do have my pillow and a blanket from home I can use, myself. Eric packed some things for me when he got me out of dispatch.”

Undertaker’s grin didn’t falter. He was a cute little bloke, sweet-natured and polite. It was really no wonder his partner was so determined to protect him, and he wondered what else might have happened between the two of them. He had his suspicions, considering some of Alan’s reactions when Slingby’s name was mentioned.

"That’s fine, li’l chap. I’ve got this couch in here handy too, of course. Might not be as comfy as one of my custom coffins, but to each their own."

He got up and went into the kitchen to rummage through his pantry and decide on something to cook. It occurred to him that he was putting an awful lot of effort into helping these lads out, and he frowned a bit, irritated with himself.

"Face it, old codger," he muttered, "you’re a bloody softy."

And he had a particular soft spot for the underdogs and strays of the world. He found a bottle of red wine and he paused, staring at it as the color reminded him of the flowing hair of one particular, flamboyant reaper with androgynous looks and a penchant for flirting with men. “Hmm, I wonder what Miss Sutcliff’s real motivation is, in all this?”

For that matter, he wondered how Grell was doing…and that confused him. “Damned youngsters,” he grumbled, “They’re making me sentimental.”

"Undertaker? May I help? I am afraid I am rather restless at the moment, as I seem to have already had a nap." Will offered as he approached the ancient carefully. The area behind his ears turned pink as he spoke. "Also, perhaps it could make up for my lack of self control earlier."

The ancient peeked out from his open pantry. “Eh? Oh, it’s you.” He scratched his chin with long black nails and he shrugged. “Y’ could fetch one of the big pots from the cabinet over there for me and get me a chef’s knife and a pairing knife from the set by the stove over there. Hate to be boring, but I think a goulash might be the ticket for tonight. Simple and fairly quick to whip up for several mouths, don’t you think?”

"I believe that would be a good choice. It is hearty and filling, and as you say, able to feed many mouths," Will agreed as he collected the one of the larger pots and carried it to the stove. He retrieved the requested knives next, placing them by the chopping block.

"I think you’ll like my goulash," announced Undertaker, suddenly chipper. At least _one_ good thing could come of this: he’d finally have the chance to show off his culinary skills to guests. All his dollies ever wanted to eat was people, so they were useless as food critics. He never got the chance to cook for anyone besides himself, and most folk politely declined his offer when he tried to get them to try his bone-shaped baked treats.

He began to whistle as he bent over to gather a selection of veggies from the bottom of the pantry. A couple onions, some garlic, a couple of carrots, a parsnip, some baby potatoes and a tomato. He dropped them into his robe like an apron to carry it all to the counter, revealing his buckle-laden, thigh-high boots to view. He dropped the veggies off and he caught the tomato before it could roll off the counter.

"Get back there, you," he threatened the tomato. "You know, those are classified as fruits and not veggies? Funny thing, that, since they’ve a savory taste to them."

Moving on to the cold box without listening for William’s reply, he picked out some beef chuck he’d defrosted the day before with the intention of making something else for himself…he couldn’t remember what. He put it on the chopping block and then he began to select spices from the cabinet.

"Let’s see…Kosher salt…black pepper…paprika…marjoram…caraway seeds…bay leaves…"

He kept muttering to himself as he mentally reviewed the list and pulled the spices from the rack. “Oh, I ought to do something with this mop of mine before I get started,” he recalled, and he twisted his flowing locks and tied them into a knot to make a ponytail, doing so with quick efficiency that suggested he’d done it this way many times before.

Will stood, watching in awe as the Undertaker moved quickly around him. “Under… I…do you… Would you…never mind.” Will gave up and patiently waited for the blasted man to give him something to do.

"Oh, you’re still here?" The mortician was so focused on preparations that he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. He was so used to being alone all the time, it was difficult for him to adjust to having company. He nodded at the meat. "Mind cutting that into cubes for me while I start chopping up th’ veggies, chap?"

Will bowed his head and replied. “I do not mind. Whatever way I can be of use. Is there anything specific about how you would prefer them to be cubed?”

"Nothing fancy. Just cut ‘em into bite-sized pieces using that bigger knife." Undertaker washed his hands in the sink before he started.

Whistling again, the mortician took up the pairing knife and pulled out another cutting board for the vegetables. Starting with the onions, he diced them up and dropped them into the pot, adding a bit of olive oil. “Toss the meat in there with those when y’ finish with it, and we’ll start up the stove to brown it with the onions.”

Turning to the meat, Will began to chop it as instructed. He listened to the Undertaker as he whistled a little tune. He stared at the meat as he cut into each slice. He enjoyed cooking. It was a passion of his, but he was not accustomed to preparing meals for others. His life was solitude, and now that and comfort had been stolen from him. Hearing laughter coming from across the way, Will looked up, his eyes falling on Ronald as he told Alan a story that had them both laughing heartily in the parlor.

"I wonder what they are about in there?" Will asked out loud as he continued with his task, not realizing he had vocalized his thoughts. "Is this really the time for them to be laughing, as though our world was not in chaos?"

Undertaker turned from his task and he cocked his head, a small grin curving his lips. “If ever there’s a time for laughter, Mr. Spears, it’s when things are darkest. Laughter reminds us that we’re alive…gives the body, mind and soul a little boost. You ought to try it sometime. I think it would do y’ some good.”

He looked at the job William had done so far and he jerked his chin at the direction of the archway. “You ought t’ join them, lad. I can finish up here on my own. You did a fine job assisting me.”

"Pardon?" Will looked up at the Undertaker, surprised. "Are you dismissing me, Sir?"

"Not so much ‘dismissing’ you as encouraging you t’ relax for a bit while you still can, and visit with your companions. The three of you are stuck with each other for a while. Might do y’ some good t’ get to know each other better, yeah?"

Undertaker grinned and collected the meat to put it in the pot, drizzling some olive oil over it. He added the carrots, potatoes and parsnips he’d chopped himself, and he sprinkled some salt and pepper into the mix, stirring it with a wooden spoon. With a flick of his hand, he ignited the wood in the potbelly stove.

"We can chat some more once I get this started," promised the mortician. He recalled that this fellow held him in high regards—poor sod—and for some reason he decided to try and be nice to him. "I won’t be long, chap. Just need t’ brown this and toss in some paprika. I’ll join you lot while it’s simmering, until it’s time for me to add the other ingredients."

"I am afraid I am not one to do much socializing. I highly doubt I have anything in common with Mister Knox and Mister Humphries." Will turned his attention back to the younger reapers, still laughing and chatting up a storm. "They would find me boring and dull. I for one do not understand Mister Knox’s desire to drink and gallivant. I should think that a conversation would be most uncomfortable with him."

Undertaker tilted his head inquisitively. “How do y’ know if you don’t try?” he persisted. “I doubt you’ll find my company much better, mate. I’ve got a ticklish funny-bone myself, after all.”

He made a swatting motion with his spoon, acting as if he were about to spank Will with it. “Now shoo…go mingle. I’ll be in there in a while.”

Reluctantly, Will washed his hands and dried them and removed himself to the parlour. As he entered he cleared his throat. “Mister Knox. Mister Humphries. May I join you?”

The two paused in their conversation and looked up at William, Alan flashed him a friendly smile. “Of course you may.”

Ronald used his foot to kick out a chair for the stoic reaper, “Pop a squat. We were just sharing stories of what happened back in our individual academy days.”

Undertaker watched him go with a little smile. Baby steps. Spears just needed to ease into it and give it a chance. He’d need to establish a rapport with them outside a work relationship, if he was to establish a link with them.

* * *

-To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Undertaker joined their chat until he needed to add the rest of the ingredients to the goulash, and he had William assist him with that before leaving it to simmer for a while and heading back into the parlor. After eating the meal he’d prepared, his guests retired for the rest of the day to get some sleep while they could. He put away the leftovers in the cold box and decided to have a little nap himself. When the sun went down, the displaced agents took turns getting cleaned up and then they left via a portal the Undertaker created for them—one that could not be easily traced by Dispatch. He promised to teach them how to do the same themselves once they returned, as well as help them form spirit links with each other to help keep track of each other.

The one danger in the latter was that if any one of them turned or got captured, those links could be used as a tool for Dispatch to hunt the rest down. He liked to think that none of them would break under torture or betray the others, but the people responsible for this mess seemed to be very persuasive. There was no telling what they’d offered to Sutcliff or Slingby in return for their services, but the mortician had a sneaking suspicion that young Humphries might have some clue about his former partner’s motivations.

"Good luck, lads," muttered the ancient as they vanished through the portal. They would probably need it.

* * *

 

Jeffries checked his watch again and he kept to the shadows. Fortunately for him, none of the Shinigami agents out scouring the city seemed to have moved on from this area for the time being. He debated calling Spears, but since the man was still using a bugged phone, he didn’t want him answering it and having the activity show up on Dispatch boards.

"Come on, boss Spears," he muttered under his breath, bouncing on his heels in his nervous anxiety. "Hope you haven’t gotten nabbed."

He crouched down behind a trash bin as someone passed by on the street, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was just a couple of civilians coming and going from the lounge. Right now, Dispatch seemed more focused on searching mortal London…because logic would dictate that most of the reapers they were searching for would have left the Shinigami realm to hide in the mortal one. Alexander supposed he should have been one of them, but he was trying not to be predictable.

He’d give Spears another twenty minutes. He’d end up popped himself if he stuck around for much—

A portal formed in the alleyway and Alexander backed up hastily, slipping around the corner and manifesting his black and gold weed-whacker. “Shit…”

"Jeffries?!" Will called out quietly, announcing his arrival along with Ronald and Alan following close behind. Then just as quickly as it formed, the portal closed and vanished.

"Jeffries, are you here?" He inquired once more, scanning the narrow back street.

Alex poked his head out from around the corner, keeping his scythe ready. “Boss Spears?” His voice was filled with caution.

"Yes, it is I." Will perked up hearing his name called. Still though, he kept his voice low. For all he knew it could be a trap, but his gut said the voice belonged to his trusted subordinate, Alexander Jeffries.

"And friends." Ron grinned. "Just the three of us."

"Quiet, Ronald." Alan hushed, "We don’t know who else is lurking around."

Will glared over his shoulder at the blond for being careless once more. Adjusting his glasses, he looked back down they alley and called out once more. “We’re here. Where are you, Jeffries? Where are you hiding? Come out. It is safe.”

Alexander stepped out from the shadows, looking them all over. “Thank Zeus. I thought you might be goners. I was ready to jet out of here at any moment.”

The brunet looked over at the reaper they had come to retrieve and smiled, “If you are ready, we should head back to safety soon.”

Alex frowned a bit. “Where to? I’ve got my things in the car, back behind us.” He turned and nodded in the direction of his busted up vehicle. “Are you sure you’ve got a safe place?”

"Safer than before." Ron shrugged, "You like legendary old farts, right? He’s helping us."

"Legendary old…oh. Wait a minute, you mean Undertaker?" Alexander looked torn between interest and wariness.

"Yes, what the disrespectful kid means is the Undertaker." Alan sighed, "Legendary Death is staying neutral in this. He has no desire to join them, but he also doesn’t want to get involved more than he has to. However, he did agree to help up to a new safe spot where we can figure out what to do."

"He’s still an old fart." Ron shrugged.

Jeffries bit his lip uncertainly. “So we’re going back to his place?”

William adjusted his glasses and looked up at the newest reaper to join their ranks. “Yes. We can assist you in retrieving your belongings, but we need to move fast and return post-haste. The Undertaker has been gracious in offering his services. I can assure you, he is neutral in the battle. Now if you will please.” Will ushered for him to lead the way, so as they could return to the safety of Undertaker’s shop, in the mortal realm.

"Wow…okay." Alexander led them to his car, banishing his scythe but reaching for the salt packet hidden within his inner blazer pocket. He carelessly tossed a pinch over his shoulder for luck…and he accidentally got some in William’s eye in the process.

Though the salt burned, Will did his best to remain calm and not draw attention to their location. Hissing, he removed his glasses and closed his eyes. They began to water almost instantly. He reached out and grabbed the first arm he came into contact with.

Through gritted teeth he spoke. “I need water and a clean cloth stat. Burns…burns like the pit of Hell. Damn it, Jeffries!”

Ronald coughed as he held back a snicker before hurrying over to William, pulling out a clean handkerchief, “Here, we don’t have clean water, but use this.” he offered.

Alex turned to look at him, blinking owlishly. “Oh, did I get you?” He smiled uncomfortably. “Er, sorry. I guess I should tell people not to walk right behind me. I’ve got some bottled water in my car and some tissues, though. Sorry…sorry!”

He grabbed William’s wrist—the one clutching Ronald’s tissue—and dragged him down an alley to the left, to his waiting vehicle. He almost threw the supervisor into the wall when he got there, letting go of his hand to leave poor William stumbling with his glasses in one hand and Ronald’s handkerchief clutched in the other. Hopping into the car, Alexander seemed oblivious to William’s plight as he grabbed up his half-drank bottle of water, snatched a tissue from the dash and hopped back out.

"Here!" offered the junior officer—and he popped the top of the bottle and squirted it all over William’s afflicted eye…along with his face. "Is that better?"

Ronald ran after the two, “Hey! You could have just ran to get the water!”

Alex gave a little start and he poked his head out the door of his car. “W-well, I tossed salt in his eye by accident and we’ve got to motor! Sorry!” He smiled again, and he ripped a tissue from the little pack in his car—inadvertently tearing it in half—and he got back out of the car to offer the shredded mess of it to the sputtering supervisor.

"Here—"

"And I was already helping him." Ronald insisted, "Your help would be more—nasty pocket-salt in his eyes or something." He said, snatching the water bottle away from Alex.

Alex blinked at him, his hand going slack as Ronald snatched the bottle from him. “Uh, okay. Grabby much, Knox? What’s your damage?”

Ronald sneered at Alex and turned, taking his handkerchief from William and wetting it, “Here…” he said, moving to gently try to help wash out William’s eyes.

Will stood there looking like a drowned rat, water dripping from the tip of his nose, his hands curling into fists. His eyes darted back and forth between the two blurs. Their bickering was weighing on his exasperated nerves.

Ready to pop, he snapped. “Gentlemen, if you _please_!”

Jeffries stopped himself from telling Knox he was acting like a gargoyle guarding the clock tower, and he smiled. “Sorry. I’ll just grab my things so we can skip out of here while we can.”

He glanced at Ronald in a quietly perplexed manner before diving into his car again. They usually got along…talking about tech stuff and all. Now he was all over him like an irate bird protecting a nest, and he had no clue what he’d done.

"By the way," he grunted as he lugged his duffle bag out the back of his car and slung it on, "You’re acting like jerks…except Mr. Humphries. Uh…sorry about the salt, Boss Spears. And sorry for…whatever…Knox."

He was still trying to figure out what pissed the blond off so much.

"How are we the jerks in this?" Ronald huffed, "How are your eyes, Senpai?" he asked, turning back to the fuming older reaper.

Alan sighed, “Lets get back to our current safe spot before we are discovered. You can continue whatever this is there where Undertaker can put it to an end and put you in a time-out.”

"I am alright." Will replied, using the handkerchief to wipe his face dry. "Mister Humphries is correct, we need to return to Undertaker’s."

Stuffing the cloth into his trouser pocket, he ran his fingers through his silky, dark locks and slipped his glasses back on. Smiling, forcefully, Will nodded and said. “Gentlemen, shall we?”

"Thought you’d never ask," sighed Jeffries.

* * *

 

He knew that nobody could possibly teleport directly into his shop without knowing how to bypass the wards he’d set up, and yet the ancient hadn’t lived for as long as this by doing things in halves. He pushed his coffin open and he awakened two of his sleeping “children”, holed up in adjacent coffins lying against the wall. He manifested his death scythe as the portal opened in the center of his shop, and he waited to see who would come from it. When he saw William step out first, he relaxed. Three other reapers practically tumbled in behind him; Humphries, Knox and some chap Undertaker had never met before.

"Any more of you where that came from?" inquired the mortician when Spears seemed to regain his bearings. 

"If there is, they aren’t with us." Ronald shrugged, "We only went to get this jerk." he jabbed his thumb in Alex’s direction.

"Enough." Will glowered at the blond. He turned and looked up at the Undertaker. "Yes, this is all of us. Undertaker, this is Alexander Jeffries. The one we went back for. Jeffries, this—"

Jeffries interrupted and he gave Ronald another perplexed look. “What the hell is your _issue_? Okay, so I accidentally threw some salt in boss Spear’s face, but—”

"Shut it," snapped Undertaker suddenly, more concerned with closing their portal and cutting off any traces than whatever personal issues they might have. He banished the energies and when he finished, he looked at the gathering before him. Young…so young. Even the eldest amongst them were just babes to him.

"You don’t have time for this. Not a one of you. Come this way, Mr. Jeffries, and put your luggage with the rest. I’ve got a crash course t’ give you all. If I hear one word of arguing from any of you, I’ll wash your mouths out with soap, hear?"

Alan took Alex’s bag from him, “Go on ahead, I’ll take your things over there with the rest of our bags.” he offered kindly with a smile.

The junior officer breathed a bit easier, his gaze flitting about the curiosities of the shop with interest. “Thanks, Mr. Humphries. Wow, this place…it’s really…what’s that over there?”

He absently released his bag to Alan’s care, and he started heading for one of the many shelves housing various objects from grotesque to unassuming curiosities. Undertaker saw him reaching out for something, and he seemed to vanish from the spot and re-appear beside the curious youngling.

He smacked Alexander’s hand as it reached out to touch a jar of viscous blue fluid.

"No! Don’t touch, you little green thing!"

Alex jumped back and gasped, looking at the mortician with the boyish eyes of one that knew no better. “S-sorry! I just…it looks really cool.”

Undertaker glanced around, and it occurred to him that he was—quite literally—surrounded by children.

"Oh, bloody hell," he muttered.

* * *

 

After everyone was rested and refreshed, Undertaker taught them all how to form untraceable portals, to move about with. He even—against his better judgment—gave them the figurative “key” to his shop, portal-wise, so that they could always come to him for advice or help. He still wasn’t sure why in Hades he was involving himself so much in their troubles, save for the fact that as a deserter himself, he could empathize with them. Ronald and Alexander both had some trouble with the portal creation, but with practice, Undertaker believed they would both improve. They stayed for two more days under his tutelage, before he felt they’d learned all they could from him and sent them on their way.

He was surprisingly sorry to see them go. His shop and home felt oddly empty to him, once he created the portal to Copenhagen and sent the young reapers on their way to take up refuge there for a while. Now all he had were his dollies—who were terrible conversationalists and could not appreciate his cooking.

"Soft," he muttered to himself as he looked about his lonely property. "I’m getting soft, in my old age."

* * *

 

Eric got awoken at two in the morning by a phone call. At first, he presumed it was work calling him in for another shady job, but when he realized it was his secure phone ringing and not his work phone, he eagerly snatched it up and answered.

"Alan?"

"Eric." Alan’s soft, gentle voice answered back after only a second’s pause. Relief was evident in his tone. He’d grown worried when Eric hadn’t answered right away. He figured late was a better time to try and call as the Scotsman would less likely be around other people that they couldn’t trust.

"Thank Lugh," sighed the Scotsman, sitting up in the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair, glancing out the window. "Are ye a’right, sweetheart? I started tae try an’ call ya yesterday, but they called me in fer a lie detector test an’ I dinnae want tae risk talking to ya before I went through it."

"Why would they test you like that? You already said you were on their side—are you okay?" Alan asked, a frown tugging on his lips. He didn’t like it; it sounded like things just got all the more dangerous for the handsome Scotsman.

"They’ve started requiring it every month fer all agents tha’ weren’t part o’ tha takeover," explained Eric. "There’re ways tae beat it, but ye’ve got tae mentally fortify yerself first. I couldnae chance talking to ya before I took it, ‘cause it would make it tha’ much harder fer me tae get through tha test."

He shut his eyes and pictured Alan’s sweet, fine-boned face in his mind. “I miss ya terribly, Al. I think about ye all tha time. They’ve been pushing me tae find ye, but they think ye’ve gone off tae have yer Thorns treated an’ never told me where ya went. Alan, ye cannae stay in London on either side now. It’s too risky. They’re lookin’ everywhere fer yeh an’ the other missing agents. They promised amnesty if I could reach ya and get yeh tae return, but I dun’ trust ‘em.”

"I’m not in the country any longer—mortal or reaper side." Alan reassured him, "I’m not alone, either. Ronald found me and now I’m with him, Spears, Jeffries, and a few others not from our division."

Alan sighed and paused, licking his lips nervously, “I wish you would join us as well…I miss you and worry about you.” he added with a whisper, looking over his shoulder at the door. Not that he didn’t trust the men he was with, but he wanted to keep private things private.

"I want tae be wi’ ya too, Alan." Eric swallowed and cleared his throat. Gods, how he wished he could be by his partner’s side. He still felt terrible about running out on him after making love to him for the first time. "I’m tryin’ tae hang in here, so I can at least work out a way tae get th’ man wi’ the treatment fer tha Thorns to ya. They’ve put tha pressure on Sutcliff tae recruit tha Undertaker, too. I doubt it can be done…tha man’s already made it clear he’d no’ interested."

The brunet sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t care about their ‘cure’ for Thorns. I care about you. I’d rather see you safe with me, and…” his cheeks heated up as he continued with his plea, “I want you in my arms again, Eric.”

The Scotsman felt a physical ache in his chest. He vividly recalled how Alan fit against him and he groaned softly with longing. “I haven’t stopped thinking of tha’ night we had together. Cannae stop thinkin’ of how ya felt in mah arms. I dream about ye all tha time, sweetheart, but I have tae try…have tae save ye, if I can. Please try tae understand tha’. It’s all I really care about.”

His fingertips traced the phone as if he were caressing the other reaper’s face, and he wished to all creation he could be there with Alan now, holding him.

Alan closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t succumb to tears, “And if it’s fake? If they can’t do what they said they can? You’re simply wasting the time we could be spending together…” It seemed like every one of their conversations ended like this: his begging for the man he’d fallen in love with to run away and join him again.

"I dun’ think its fake, Alan. The man wi’ tha treatment explained it all tae me, an’ I really believe it could work. It has somethin’ tae do wi’ parts of cinematic records from yer reaping targets contaminating yer own ‘cause they passed through ya. This guy has a way tae clean it up, an’ if it works, ye’ll be safe again. I…I cannae let ya die, Al. I jus’ can’t. If there were any way I could be there wi’ ya right now and still get this cure, I would. I jus’ need enough time tae work out how tae get it to ya, an’ then we can be together again. I’ll find a way tae keep sending yer medicine to ya, if ye cannae get it yerself. Jus’ try tae be patient an’ stay safe, ‘till then."

"Promise me," Alan choked, "That you’ll run from them if you get the slightest hint that something went wrong and that you are in danger. Please promise me that."

Eric nodded, closing his eyes again. “I promise, sweetheart. Come hell ‘r high water, I’ll come fer ya someday soon. Tha thought of being wi’ ye again is all tha’ gets me through tha day anymore.”

"Just…stay safe. I hate not knowing what’s happening to you—I love you too much to not worry."

"I’ll try tae keep in touch more often," promised Eric. "An’ I’ll do mah best tae let ya know if an’ when the situation changes. G’night, sweetheart. I’ll hold ye in mah dreams, since I cannae do it in person right now."

"Good night…" Alan whispered, "I love you."

Hanging up, he sighed and pocketed his phone, walking back into the main room where they were currently based. It wasn’t the most inviting place to stay. Unpainted walls, hard wooden floors, no real furnishings…but it was at least safe from the corrupted dispatch for the time-being.

* * *

 

Ronald walked into the small side-room where he would be staying while they were in the place Undertaker had sent them. Sighing, he swiped up the pillow on the other cot he hadn’t claimed and he tossed it on top of his own pillow before reclining back against them, bringing a bottle of cheep beer to his lips and tipping it back—wishing he had something better to drink.

Will stood in the doorway eyeing the cot he would have to sleep on until they were forced to flee once more. His eyes immediately noticed there was no pillow on the thin mattress. Following his hunch, he looked over at the blond resting on his cot. He was obviously leaning back on two pillows instead of one and William instantly knew the boy had stolen his only taste of comfort.

Adjusting his glasses, he cleared his throat. “Mister Knox, I must ask you to return that pillow to the other cot. It appears I will be your roommate for the duration of our stay here. It seems Mister Humphries and Mister Jeffries lay claim to the other room and cots as I was stocking our pantry.”

Ron glanced up a him, “You aren’t using it yet.” he shrugged, taking another sip of beer, “Uhg, this stuff taste like ass…”

Sighing, William walked over to his cot and sat down. He reached over and pulled his duffle bag over, with everything he had purchased in London, and began to rummage through it.

"I cannot imagine what ass would taste like, but I shall take your word for it, Mister Knox."

"It’s a figure of speech, Senpai." Ron said, rolling his eyes, "I’ve never licked an ass before." Yet he downed the rest of the bottle and set it on the floor.

Will looked up and adjusted his glasses. “That is an entirely odd expression then. Who would come up with such a way to describe a beverage—or anything, for that matter? How would one know what ass were to taste like if they have never tasted ass to begin with? Your choice of description puzzles me, Mister Knox.”

"Are you saying you want me to go lick a mule so that I can better compare flavors of something?" Ronald asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No I am not, Mister Knox." Will replied, glaring at the blond. "Honestly, sometimes I do not understand you at all. Too concerned about the flavor of your beer, when you should be concerned about how we are going to survive."

"What’s the point stressing about what might happen if they find us when we are safe at the moment? You’ll give yourself white hair like the old geezer if you live in future stresses, Senpai."

Will once more had resumed rummaging through his bag, but paused at the blond’s statement. “I highly doubt my hair will age. As for your other statement, there is need to worry. I am the most wanted of all the reaper’s on the list and I have no idea for certain as to why. I would very much like to march into Dispatch and demand to know what is going on, but I am afraid that is quite impossible and until the situation is resolved and things have returned to normal, I will not be able to relax.”

"And what if it never returns to normal—what then? Spend the rest of forever a stressed mess?" Ron asked, rolling onto his side and looking at William.

"No, but it would mean would never be allowed to truly live again. We would always be the hunted and forever hiding or running. I care to do neither. I would like to regain my dignity and my home." Will looked down into his bag, still searching for an unknown item. "I am not stressed, just concerned."

"You’re stressed. You have a vein on your neck that throbs when you stress and it hasn’t stopped since we made our escape." Ronald shrugged.

"I am not stressed…well I am at the moment. I am unable to find something I packed. I could have sworn I packed in my toiletry bag, but I have searched it and I am checking this one in case, but it seems to be not here as well." Will replied, sighing as he looked over at the blond across from him.

"Maybe you forgot it." Ron shrugged, "What are you missing?"

"Nothing…it’s personal." Will snapped as he dove back into his bag, growing more frantic at the thought of having left the mystery item behind. "It has got to be here. Damn it! I _know_ I packed it! I am not foolish enough to have left it behind.”

He stood up, thinking a better angle might allow him to see further into the bag.

"It has got to be here. It was very difficult to procure while we were in London. If I do not find it, Dispatch may get their wish." Will rambled, forgetting the blond was listening to his every word.

"Personal…yet you went snooping in my pockets and had a nice look at my personal items—according to the geezer, that is." Ron smirked, "Come on, maybe I saw where it is."

"Snooping? I was doing no such thing," Will replied in a perturbed voice. "I was looking for my phone—that you had stolen. I thought perhaps in my mad dash from the hotel I had slipped it into your bag by accident."

Giving up, he sat down on the cot and leaned forward. He placed his elbows on his knees, his hands cradling his throbbing head. He was sure he had packed the bottle of powder he had scoured London in search of; a rare medicinal powder that he required. Only one apothecary shop carried the powder on hand as it was not common for mortals to use.

Taking a cleansing breath, Will looked over at the blond. “It is personal, Ronald. I doubt highly you would have seen what I am looking for. It is nothing like your con…your personal items.”

"Fine—be stubborn." Ronald huffed, running a hand through his hair, "Maybe you just need a good distraction."

"You do not know what you are talking about. I can not tell you what I am looking for, but it is of great importance I can assure you." Will replied, trying to keep calm.

Ron grabbed Will’s pillow out from under him and threw it into William’s face, “Then why are you telling me about it if you don’t want me to know?”

"…Humph…" Will grunted as the pillow met his face. "What in the bloody Hell was that for? You could have been a gentleman and returned it to me in a more respectful manner. Instead you act like hooligan."

"Because you are being stubborn!" Ron huffed, "I was trying to help you."

"I understand you were trying to help, Mister Knox. And while I appreciate the fact, what I am looking for…It could put me in grave danger. If Dispatch were to find out, they would have something they could use against me."

Taking a deep breath, Will stood up and began to pace the room. He ran his fingers through his hair as he moved about the small room, the heels of his shoes clicking on the wooden floor. The room felt small; as though it were closing in all around him. He was nervous and jittery. He knew he needed the medicine and he needed it soon. He paused and looked at Ronald.

_~Perhaps I can trust him. No. What good would it do to tell him if you left the bottle behind?~_ Will shook his head, sweat was forming on his brow. _~But perhaps you didn’t look well enough. Perhaps a fresh set of eyes, or the Undertaker. Surely he has something available to control this sort of thing…or at least access to it. Maybe I should contact him and inquire about it, before I break.~_

He looked at the door. _~But that would require opening up a portal, leaving and explaining to the Undertaker about my illness. The others would be curious and I would be forced to explain why I had to use a portal. This is a private matter. They do not need to know that their boss is sick and suffers such a weakness. No, I shall keep this to myself.~_

Turning back around, his gaze washed over Ronald. The room spun as he took a step forward. Blackness threatened to over take him, and he went hard down onto his knees.

Ron’s cot toppled onto it’s side as he leapt from it, gasping as he moved to catch his boss before the rest of him hit the floor, “Senpai!” He struggled to get the fallen man over and back onto his cot, laying him down. “What the heck was that..?”

He frowned. Maybe William wasn’t feeling all that great? Maybe he was sick? He was looking desperately for something ‘personal’ and now he’d collapsed—maybe said ‘personal’ item was some sort of medication? or smelling salts…or…hell, he didn’t know. He was a dispatch officer, not a medical reaper.

Ronald grabbed William’s bag and, risking getting into trouble with the man, he started sifting through it, dumping everything out of the bag onto the foot of the cot and examining the contents for anything ‘personal’ that could possibly help. But he found nothing.

With a sigh, he grabbed the bag to put things back inside, but he paused when the bag felt heavier than it should. Curious, he looked inside and found a rip in the lining. Using his fingers to rip it open further to look, he found a plastic container with a medical symbol on the white cap. He pulled it out and read the label.

"Are these…anxiety meds?" he frowned, then looked over at William. It made sense, really, that William would suffer from something like that. Sitting on the edge of the cot, he turned the bottle over to read the instructions.

"Shh, just take deep breaths, Senpai…this thing is not something I normally do and I don’t wanna mess it up and mess you up… water…" Ron hopped up and ran over to the corner where provisions were being stored, finding a bottle of water that Alex had brought from his car.

"Powder….why can’t it be something easy like pills? ‘take two pills with water’ would be so much better than grams of powder mixed with water," he complained to himself as he set to work trying to mix the medication properly.

"Okay, I think this is right. Sure hope it is," Ron said after a moment, carrying it over to William and pulling him up so he could take the medication.

Will shook as he was lifted, but he did not fight the blond when he pressed the medicine to his lips and in that moment he felt secure. The feeling of safety emanating from the young reaper’s body. It was a new sensation, being held and helped. This of course was due to no-one knowing of his condition. He had always stayed on top of his prescribed medication, but with the desperation of their situation, he had been off and using mortal drugs as compensation. It was only a consolation to what he could get back home.

Wasting none of the horrid tasting liquid, William swallowed it as fast as he could and looked up at Ronald. He was barely able to make out the blond’s features, but it was enough. Still fumbling with his neck tie as a result from the attack, the knot finally gave way and he relaxed even more into Ronald’s hold.

"Th-thank you. Pl-please do not t-tell th-the others." he stuttered, his cheeks pinking up.

"Don’t tell..? If you had told me maybe you wouldn’t have needed me to freak out and think you were dying or something!" Ron scolded, yet his tone was low and gentle.

Shaking his head, Will replied—still slightly panicked. “No, one c-can know.”

"I know…and what happens if this happens again and I’m not here to freak out over you?"

"As s-soon as I c-can I have t-to get some f-from home. Some-somehow." Will stuttered more as he tried to rein in his thoughts. He was grateful that Ronald had been there, especially since the youth was not taking jabs at him.

"I don’t think that’s possible," observed Ronald. "At least, not anytime soon…not before you run out, depending on how often you need it."

William closed his eyes and began to take a few deep breaths. The room came into focus as the lids of his eyes began to open. The medication was starting to take full affect, and he could feel his own pulse beginning to slow back to a normal rythm. His hands were not as fidgety and he laid them flat along his sides.

"That d-depends on m-my stress levels. And I t-tend to su-suffer from attacks quiet frequent-frequently."

"Then I go back to insisting that you need to relax and not worry so much about what might happen."

"How?" William looked up, unfamiliar with the idea. He had never had the luxury of relaxing and sitting back to enjoy his eternal life. He was a leader, in charge of many lives. Even in their current circumstance, he felt obligated to lead and look over the others. He was also the eldest and they needed order and structure. Just because they were no longer in the Dispatch, it did not mean they were any less a unit.

"I can-cannot. I must not be-be weak. I have to stay…to stay strong."

"Relaxing doesn’t make a person weak…You don’t really think that I’m weak…do you?"

Will shook his head no. “No I do not, but…but I do not know how to relax. M-my job had never offered me s-such a luxury. And the others, they will think me w-weak, when they learn of this. I must ask that you help…help me hide this from them.”

"I’ll only help you if you’ll let me. You need to relax. I know I’m not a doctor but…it seems that it should help, right? and you need to save your meds for when you really, _really_ need it.” Ron said, pulling away now that the man seemed to be fine on his own.

The loss of contact made the brunet shake a bit, but he understood that if any of the other’s were to walk in and find them in each other’s arms, there would be questions and for that he was thankful, Ronald had laid him back down onto the cot, where as he could make up some story about being tired or even having a headache, if someone were to come into their room.

He took another deep breath before answering. “I would appreciate any help you would be willing to offer. I just cannot guarantee I will make a good patient for you. I feel out of sorts and as many things trigger my attacks. Yes, that is correct: not all of them occur due to stress. That just seems to be the main cause. I will do my best to work with you and relax. Is that a deal?”

"Yes." Ron nodded and got up to put away the remaining water and meds, "It was hiding under the lining of your bag, by the way."

"No wonder I could not locate it," Will said as he rubbed his temples. And then before he could stop himself, he blurted out: "I was afraid."

Ron looked over his shoulder at William as he started putting William’s things back in his travel bag. “William T. Spears having an emotion other than anger, annoyance and seriousness? I never thought I’d see the day.” He smirked teasingly, but not to be mean; simply playful in an attempt to get the man into a better mood after his anxiety attack.

"Yes, shocking isn’t it? I can feel. I do in fact have a heart beneath the layers of ice." Will closed his eyes and sighed. His body was growing more relaxed as the drugs took full effect.

"…and what would happen if I melted that ice?" Ron asked.

Will looked down at the blond and coughed, “I beg…beg your pardon? I am not quite sure if I just heard you correctly. I could have sworn you just asked about melting my ice.”

"I did." Ron shrugged.

Growing nervous again in an entirely different way, Will slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows and asked: “Why would you want to melt my ice? I thought you cared little for me, so I must ask as to why you would want to do such a thing?”

"To get to know you." Ron shrugged again as he closed Will’s bag up and slid it on the floor under William’s cot, before walking over to his own cot and picking it back up, along with his pillow and blanket before flopping onto it and letting out a beer-flavored sigh.

Perplexed, Will turned his head and watched the young reaper fix his bed and lie down upon it. Ronald had not only promised to keep his secret, but was offering a form of friendship?

"Again Mister Knox, thank you. I appreciate your assistance and your understanding of my wishes to keep my secret."

"Not talking about that…" Ron yawned, unbuttoning his shirt to get ready for bed. His muscles flexed in the dim light from the flickering light bulb swaying slightly overhead.

"I do not mean to pester, but what then are you talking about, Mister Knox?"

Ron stuffed his shirt into his bag beside his cot and glanced over at William, “I like you, is all….Night.” He stood up and turned off the light, before getting back into bed for the night.

"Like? Mister Knox?" William questioned as he stared blankly up at the dark ceiling. He scratched his cheek, but was not satisfied and sat up, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. "How?"

"Night, sir." Ronald flushed in the dark. Maybe he’d had too much cheap beer. His tongue got too loose for his liking, around William.

Rising from his cot, Will walked over to the wall and flipped the switch, turning the light back on. He turned around and stared at the blond’s back. As he began to walk towards Ronald’s bed, he prodded further. “Mister Knox, you will not get away with a ‘good night’. I am terribly confused by your behavior and your statement. I can only press for an honest answer… What did y—”

"You’re a smart man. I’m sure you can figure it out." Ron said, getting up to turn off the light again.

"Ronald? I do not mean to come off ignorant here, but one minute you treat me like I am some cold-hearted bastard and the next you say you like me and I have not the slightest idea in which you mean that. Now my curiosity is piqued and I would like you to explain. How do you mean you like me? The term is broad." Will huffed as he stomped back over to the light switch and flipped it immediately back on.

"It means I happen to like you despite the fact that you are—in your words— a ‘cold hearted bastard’." Ron shrugged and flipped the switch, drowning them in darkness.

Brow twitching, Will flipped the switch back on, drenching them in the soft glow of their singular light bulb once more. “And your definition of ‘like’ means what, Mister Knox? Please enlighten me.”

"Like," Ronald said in a tone like he was reciting something in a class for his teacher, "Verb; to enjoy doing something, or to feel that someone or something is pleasant or attractive. Example: I like you, Senpai."

"Oh, honestly, Mister Knox. It is like trying to pull teeth, when trying to get a straightforward answer from you. I give up." Admitting defeat, Will threw  his hands up in the air, then hit the light switch, casting them in darkness again. Turning on his heel, he marched back to his bed and flopped down upon it. With a little grunt, he tugged the covers up to his chin.

"Maybe you don’t understand because you don’t want to," Ronald huffed. Just how thick _was_ the man? It didn’t take a genius to realize Ronald had feelings for his boss.

Will’s head turned to face the blond’s cot. The room was dark, but with the help of the moonlight creeping in through the window he was able to make out the boy’s silhouette.

"Mister Knox, I stood there trying my damndest to get an answer from you. I do not need a vocabulary lesson. I was only trying to understand…never mind. I am too flustered to even understand _myself_ at the moment. I am just not use to others liking me, in any form of the word.”

"I don’t know how else to word it! I like you—I like you. How the fuck can I make it any more clear to yo—" He cut himself off, his buzzed mind urging an idea into his head. And Scythe help him, he was sure he’d get a firm punch to the jaw for it. But he moved all the same, walking over to William’s cot and grabbing his shoulders, yanking him up into a beer-flavored kiss.

Shocked to his very core, Will blinked a few times as his mouth was captured by Ronald’s, the taste of bitter beer coating his lips. But as Ronald pressed gently and deeper against his lips, Will found his body relaxing. His eyes slowly fluttered shut, and his arms slid around the young reaper’s waist. Then he surprised himself as a moan emitted from himself. Slowly, he pulled the blond down on top of him as he laid back.

_~So this is what it is meant to be liked.~_

Shocked, Ronald paused the kiss, his next words feathering over William’s lips, “You didn’t punch me?”

"No, I didn’t. Should I have?" Will asked, searching Ronald’s eyes as they stared back at him, surprised.

"I expected you to. It’s not like I asked permission to touch you first."

"I believe I rather enjoyed it, and therefore found no cause to hit you, Mister Knox." William smirked up at Ronald. "I shall assume that is the definition of ‘like’ that you were referring to, that I did not comprehend?"

Ronald smiled and said nothing as he reconnected the kiss, taking it slightly deeper as he ran his tongue along the man’s lower lip. “Mmmmh…”

* * *

 

Alexander groaned and stuffed his flimsy pillow over his head. He could hear Knox and Spears arguing through the wall, seeing as the little room he was sharing with Alan was right next to theirs.

"Gahh," he moaned, "Do those guys _ever_ stop arguing?”

He stopped a moment later when the noise died down to sudden, blessed silence. Hesitantly, he pulled his pillow down and lifted his head to listen. He smiled. “Oh, wow…I guess they wore themselves out or something.”

He combed his auburn bangs out of his eyes and glanced over at his bunk mate. “Hey Alan, do you think—oh.”

Alan Humphries was curled up on his side facing him, and his blanket had slipped down to reveal a brown plush bunny tucked under his arm. Jeffries blinked at it, his lips quirking as his eyebrows rose. He started to laugh softly in spite of himself, disturbing Alan from his restless slumber.

"Hmm..?" Alan groaned, opening his eyes and blinking a few times, waiting for the darkened room to come into a still-blurry focus. "D’you say something?" he muttered with a yawn.

It was on the tip of Alex’s tongue to tease him about the rabbit, but of all the reapers he’d gone into hiding with, Alan was the nicest. He didn’t boss him around and expect him to drop everything to hack some kind of information from the Shinigami broadcasts. He didn’t pick on him for his superstitious habits like throwing salt over his shoulder for luck, or freaking out that time he broke a hand mirror. Besides, there was a kind of sadness about the guy that made it hard to pick on him. He couldn’t resist a _little_ teasing, but he kept in gentle on account of Alan always being so nice to him.

"What’s it’s name?" he asked. He nodded at the stuffed animal. "The rabbit, I mean?" 

"Ah—oh…" Glad for the darkness, Alan flushed, looking down at the stuffed toy he’d grabbed from his bed at home before leaving Shinigami London. Reaper eyes could see well enough in the dark, but colors were still hard to make out.

"Rose…" he bit his lip, "At least, that’s the name it came with. I got it as a gift when I was first diagnosed with the Thorns of Death. The…person who gave it to me said that even thorns have a beautiful rose they protect…and that the stuffed rabbit is a reminder of that…" he explained, feeling as if the story was needed.

Alexander sobered, but he couldn’t help the trace of a smile that lingered on his lips. It was a nervous habit of his. “Do you…know if the person that gave it to you is still alive? Like did they get out the way like we did, when things got crazy?”

Alan gave a small nod, hugging it closer, “He’s alive and mostly safe, but he didn’t get out. He…It was Eric.”

"Officer Slingby?" guessed Alex. "Oh."

It was well-known by now that Slingby had helped orchestrate Alan’s reunion with Director Spears and Ronald Knox, so it stood to reason that he wasn’t _completely_ siding with the enemy, at least. Being a mistrustful, somewhat paranoid guy however, Alex had his doubts about the Scotsman’s trustworthiness. What if he’d done all that just to get them all in one place? He kept in touch with Alan, as he understood it. Maybe he was waiting for them to settle somewhere so he could tell Dispatch exactly where to find them.

He parted his lips to mention that concern, but the way Alan was looking at the stuffed animal changed his mind. He’d already heard him defend his former partner to others before. He wasn’t going to listen to any theories that he was just using him to get a location on the exiles and help Dispatch round them up.

"Sorry," he offered instead. "I know you were partners. Um…were you like…together, too?"

Alan’s cheeks grew warmer yet, “It’s…complicated,” he admitted and took a deep breath, “We were never officially together, no…but…I…I do love him. I’m in love with him, that is…but…it’s complicated…”

The fact that they made love once was none of anyone’s concern other than Eric or himself. And he really couldn’t explain it further without telling the whole story.

"Oh," Alex said again, not really able to relate. "Sucks that you’re apart, then. I don’t know what it’s like to love someone like that. My classmates always told me I ought to just date a computer."

Alexander smirked. “I’m not the world’s best at relating to people, I guess. I’m uh…sorry if I was sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. I’m not so good with personal boundaries either and I ask a lot of questions without thinking, sometimes. It sounds like the guy really cares about you, though. Maybe it’ll all work out and he can join up with us later on.”

He laid back down, lowering his voice a little. “I hope,” he said around a yawn, “that happens for you. Must be nice to connect with a person like that. G’night, Alan.”

"I hope so, too. I hate worrying about him like this without knowing anything." Alan sighed, closing his eyes. "And I’m sure you’ll eventually find the right person for you. Good night." he offered, snuggling with his stuffed rabbit.

* * *

-To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Three weeks had passed since Alan and the others fled London. Eric had no idea where they went, and he had no intention of finding out. The less he knew, the better off they all were. He called Alan each week to check in on him and he had some connections that allowed him to get his prescription medications to send to him without Dispatch tracing it. The process of getting the medication to him without an address was complicated, but it worked. Eric dropped a care package off at a different post office in mortal London each week, where an unknown associate of Alan’s would come to retrieve it and send it off to wherever he was. Within these packages, the Scotsman always included currency—which could be easily exchanged for mortal money in various worldwide locations in the Shinigami realm. He also included some sort of small gift, a love letter and of course, any med refills Alan required.

In addition to these precautions, he began to purchase a new temporary phone each week, with which to contact Alan and further lessen the risk of him being traced. He always let Alan know which number he would be calling from whenever he did this, before destroying the old one. They had begun subjecting him and other remaining agents from the old Dispatch to random lie detector tests. The questions sometimes varied, but he never knew when he’d have to take another test so he had to be especially careful.

_"Have you had contact with Alan Humphries since he vanished?"_

The answer was always “no”; and it was the truth, because they never specified what _kind_ of contact. He hadn’t had any physical contact with his partner since he left reaper London, and that was always the meaning he kept in mind when answering that question.

_"What of the other missing agents: Spears, Knox and Jeffries?"_

Again, the answer was a truthful “no”, because he’d had no contact of any kind with any of them since they were officially declared missing. Fortunately, that official pronouncement didn’t occur until _after_ he crossed paths with Ronnie that day in London.

_"Are you loyal to our cause, Officer Slingby?"_

That one was a bit tricky, and the readings always came out ambiguous, like his response. “I’m loyal tae mah partner. Ye’ve go’ a cure fer his illness, so that makes me loyal tae ye as well…even if I dun’ like wha’ yer doing.”

And he’d never failed to complete an assignment given to him, no matter how distasteful. Seeing as his results were irrefutable, they couldn’t hold that answer against him.

There were always questions of a more personal nature, of course. They’d ask if he loved Alan Humphries, and he’d look them in the eye, smirk, and tell them he wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t. They’d ask if he and his partner had been in a relationship, and he told them they weren’t—which was again true, because the relationship didn’t occur until after Alan disappeared.

It was irksome and tiring, but he endured it, passing each test they put him through but failing to completely douse their suspicions of where his loyalties truly lay. They couldn’t argue his willingness to work with them; he’d already committed plenty of sins for the sake of saving Alan from the Thorns. He wasn’t trusted yet, though. They were right not to trust him. He was keeping tabs on Professor Daniels’ comings and goings, slowly formulating a plan to bring the man to Alan and force him to perform his cure on him.

For that matter, Grell wasn’t doing all that fabulously with them, either. Fortunately for the redhead, he truly _hadn’t_ seen or heard from the reapers he’d signed a contract to protect, so he didn’t need to lie even if he wanted to…but Grell had a mouth on him and he’d never been particularly in love with authority—unless it was in the bedroom. He’d earned himself demerits and overtime the last time he had to take a lie detector test, because all of his answers fairly dripped theatrical sarcasm that had the test conductor red in the face with anger by the end of it.

Eric was just thinking of these things on his way out of Headquarters to his latest assignment, and he couldn’t help but smirk. He’d have loved to be a fly on the wall for that one.

* * *

 

"So I see they subjected you to yet another loyalty test." Grell said to the approaching blond as he exited the testing room. His lip curled in disgust as he leaned against the wall of the long corridor on floor thirteen of the Shinigami Dispatch Association’s main building. His arms were crossed over his chest and he had one red, high-heeled foot pressed against the wall.

Today he was in an even more irritable mood than usual. The night before he had gotten little to no sleep. And once more, the new higher-ups had called early in the morning for him to report to headquarters. He was to receive new orders for a new top secret assignment. He figured more than likely it would turn out to be another typical assassination mission, since that seemed to be all he was ever given. The only exceptions, of course, were recruiting Undertaker and his own random lie detector testing.

He had been in no rush to get there. Deciding that if he was so important to their cause, they could wait until he was good and damned-well ready to show up. After all; he was not some dog that came the minute he was called. He was Grell Sutcliff. He was the blood lusting “Queen of Death”. Internally, he giggled at the title he had recently given himself.

"Let me guess, they asked yet again, if you were or had been intimate with Alan?"

Eric leaned against the wall across from him and nodded. “Aye, like always. Dun’ see how it’s relevant, but they always ask. I’m starting tae wonder if they get some sort o’ sick thrill out of diggin’ into our personal lives. Have they still been botherin’ ya about Spears?”

To his knowledge, they were putting the thumbscrews to Grell about William, just like they were doing to him with Alan. It was no secret that Grell had harbored an infatuation with Spears for long years, but it didn’t seem to be reciprocated. Eric never asked for details, figuring it was their personal business.

"Among a million other personal questions." Grell replied averting his gaze. "I have not spoken to Will since the day before he disappeared. Ronnie was never suppose to get involved. Not yet, at least."

He turned his head and looked back over at the blond and his foot began to tap against the wall. “I am beginning to think this was a bad idea. And today… never mind. I honestly have no idea who they want me to take out now. It’s just, I have just about had it with the way they are treating me. If I don’t turn Undertaker…”

Grell pushed away from the wall and walked over to Eric’s side. His eyes narrowing as he stared into Eric’s own two-toned, green eyes. “Do you honestly believe they have a cure for Alan?”

Eric nodded. “I’ve been shown tha proof. It’s solid. I jus’ have tae do mah part tae get it fer him…if I can ever get him back.”

He wanted to tell the redhead the truth…wanted to tell him that he’d orchestrated Alan’s disappearance because he couldn’t bear getting him involved. He wished he could confess everything to Grell, but even if he was sure he wouldn’t turn on him, this wasn’t the place to start sharing things. He kept the book closed, biding his time to be certain he could trust this volatile reaper before parting with his secrets.

Something else Grell had said piqued his curiosity. He wondered what sort of threat Grell might be operating under. It was a dangerous time for them all…a time that tested loyalty and trust for everyone. He couldn’t speak with him there, though. Too many ears and eyes. He checked his watch. “Come have lunch wi’ me. No’ here; I’m sick of cafeteria food. We could go tae tha’ bistro off 89th an’ get some fresh air. I’ll drive.”

Opening his mouth to protest, Grell held his tongue and glanced down the corridor, that he was suppose to be walking down at this very moment. But his anger peaked once more and his rebellious nature kicked in.

"I’d love to, Eric." the redhead answered turning his face back up to the blond’s and smiled. "I believe they can wait just a tad longer. After all; a lady does her best slaughtering on a full stomach."

He gave a little giggle, then turned around and linked his arm with Eric’s.

* * *

 

Once they were in his car, Eric sighed and looked at Grell. “Dunno if it was obvious, but I wanted tae talk away from pryin’ ears. Problem is, this whole situation has put us all in a situation where we cannae trust people…no’ even our old work associates. An’ let’s face it, ye an’ I were ne’er tha most ‘moral’ reapers, anyhow.”

He sighed, and he gazed into Grell’s eyes somberly. “Can I trust ya, Grell? Do ya think yeh can trust me? Right now, we’re all tha’s left of tha original team of senior officers, an’ we’re tha closest things tae allies either of us really has anymore. I suggested tha bistro, but I’m thinkin’ we’re best off picking up somethin’ tae go an’ eating in a quiet spot in a park, where we can talk wi’out others passing by an overhearing us.”

"Well that is an interesting question indeed…do I trust you?" Grell smirked as he relaxed into the comfortable seat of Eric’s car. He turned his head and looked out the window, peering up at the Dispatch’s main building. His cocky expression faded and turned pensive. Eric was correct; they were alone in this game. They were all each other had. Their team did not exist any longer and both of them had been in trouble numerous times. That was why, Grell figured, the reason they were selected in secret, to pull off the assassinations and recruiting assignments they had be given. They were ballsy and unafraid of getting dirty, especially when they both had things they stood to loose, if they refused. The ice they were standing on at any moment could break beneath them.

A chill washed over the redhead and he rubbed his arms. Goosebumps covered his exposed flesh as he thought of what might happen to either of them if they tried to leave. Trying to shake the uneasy feeling from his mind, Grell chuckled and looked over at the blond.

"As for your lunch idea…yes I quite agree. We cannot risk being over heard. Though I must say, darling, it rather sounds like you have something you are desperate to get off of your chest. Am I right, Eric?" He poked the blond in the cheek with the red-painted nail of his right index finger.

"I jus’ want tae clear th’ air an’ figure out where we stand wi’ each other," answered the Scotsman evasively as he buckled up and put the car into gear. He checked for traffic before pulling out of his parking spot. "There might be one ‘r two things I’d like tae talk about. Sounds like you’ve go’ somethin’ on yer mind as well."

He glanced at the redhead sidelong. “I’m curious tae hear wha’ they’ve been holdin’ o’er yer head concerning tha recruitment of Undertaker, but I’m no’ gonna press ya. Maybe we’ll both part wi’ some personal secrets by tha time we finish lunch. Let’s jus’ see how it goes.”

"I’m surprised you don’t already know the answer to that." Grell huffed. "It’s not like it is some big secret. I want William unharmed. To sweeten the deal, I requested that Ronnie not be harmed either. For that, I would do anything."

But that was not all of it, and Grell was not sure if he was ready to depart the rest of his secrets about his contract with the new powers at Dispatch. Grell looked down at his lap and fiddled with his seat belt. “Ronnie, he was not suppose to know of any of this. Not yet at any rate. I must admit, I am a tad angry with William for stumbling on that blasted list so soon.”

Eric smirked and turned out onto the street. “Spears has always been crafty, Grell. Ya know tha’ by now. They shoulda’ tried harder tae keep th’ list secure. Tha man might no’ be a ‘hacker’ per say, but he knows tha system an’ he’s jus’ anal enough tae keep at it when he finds somethin’ strange, ‘till he’s worked out wha’ it is.”

He pulled up to an oriental noodle drive-through that he knew Grell sometimes ordered from. “Ye cannae resent tha man fer being smarter than they gave him credit for.”

The person operating the drive through asked what they’d like, and Eric ordered the teriyaki beef combo, then asked what Grell would like.

"Oh, umm…the teriyaki chicken combo." Grell replied, looking over the menu as best he could. Grell preferred chicken over beef and typically went for meals of that nature whenever possible.

"I hope they are safe." he muttered under his breath as he looked ahead and out the front window.

Eric said nothing, but he considered Grell’s sincere concern and he began to feel a bit more secure about the possibility of telling him some of what he knew. He couldn’t give him a location even if he wanted to, but he was beginning to feel like he needed to at least let him know the two reapers he cared for the most were safe, as far as he knew. That could change at any moment between the last time he spoke with Alan and the next, but…

Eric sighed. “Aye, we definitely need tae talk.”

* * *

 

He wouldn’t tell Sutcliff exactly what was on his mind until they arrived at a small park and chose a picnic table to eat at, under the shade of a large oak. “A’right, here’s wha’ I know,” Eric said after having a bite of his noodle combo, “Spears an’ Knox are alive. They’re wi’ Alan an’ a few other agents tha’ managed tae get out before the hammer came down. I cannae tell ya where, because I dun’ know tha’ meself…but they’re alive and fer tha moment, they’re safe.”

Grell’s eyes widened and he nearly choked on a bite of chicken. “Eric Slingby, why didn’t you tell me sooner? You know I have been worried sick about them! My only hope had been that they had yet to appear on the death or detained list. How long have you known?”

Eric grimaced. “Since a little after Alan went MIA. Sorry Grell, but ye always made it seem like ya were goin’ along wi’ all this for personal gain, ‘cept yer concern for Spears an’ Knox. I needed tae feel ya out, before I said anythin’. I was jus’ trying tae protect everyone, an’ I hope I’m no’ making a mistake telling ya this much.”

He sighed and he looked off in the distance, the breeze stirring his wavy golden hair. “Ne’er thought I’d see tha day I’d have tae look at even mah closest allies wi’ suspicion. I want ye tae know it’s no’ personal, Grell. I always liked ye…jus’ dunno who I can trust anymore an’ I think it’s pretty obvious by now mah partner means everythin’ tae me. Couldn’t risk saying anything ‘till I felt confident it wouldnae compromise his safety. I hope ya understand tha’.”

"I can understand that. I do have my reasons for committing to all of this. Several in fact." Grell nodded as he began stirring his food. "I’m not doing all of this for Will and Ron. I have things to gain out of all of this as well. I just can’t tell you everything. At least not all of it, because some of it is selfish. Though, Will and Ron were my first concern. I have added to my contract, because of what they want me to do. And if I don’t play by their rules…I get none of it."

Frustrated and angry, Grell threw his chopsticks down and got up. He walked over to the rose garden and sat down on one of the many benches in the shade. He wrapped his arms around his waist and lowered his head, closing his eyes. The ribbon around his neck flapped quietly in the wind as the red and yellow roses behind him swayed.

Eric watched him, and he again felt that terrible guilt. He got up as well and he approached the smaller reaper, laying his hands over his shoulders in a gesture of comfort. “They’re alive, Grell. Safe, far as I can tell. All we need tae do ‘till we figure this out is our jobs. I…I dunno if I can ever look Alan in the eye again after wha’ I’ve done, but I cannae help from doing it…for him.”

He rubbed the tense shoulders solicitously. “Must be tha same fer you, I imagine.”

Grell looked up, his eyes watery from unshed tears. “We’re never going to see them again. Alan, Ronnie, William. We’re trapped. If I don’t keep doing what they say, the higher-ups, they are going to have me committed. I’ll become a test subject. You’re not crazy. They’d just execute you.”

Eric was breathless with that tidbit. He frowned at Grell, suspecting a joke at first…but the sincere dread in his eyes made him reconsider. “Holy bloody…Grell, I suspect I cannae bitch at ye fer keeping this from me. Shit…oh, fuckin’ hell…”

Eric took a few deep breaths, bowing his head for a moment. When he felt safe to speak with any wit at all, he put his hands on Grell’s arms gently. “we’re no’ gonna let tha’ happen, right? I need ya tae say it, Grell. Say they wun’ do tha’ to ye. Tha Grell I know wouldn’t allow it…right?”

"Why do you think I rebel whenever possible and I am demanding so much? If I have to be their bitch. I’ll at least act like one. I torture, maim whoever, no questions asked. I have to wash off all the blood every night. But I refuse to let them cage me like some freak they can tamper with. But I am scared, Eric. You haven’t been over to the facility since they took over. You haven’t seen what they have done. What they are planning." Grell’s brows pinched together and he frowned up at the blond. "Why do you think they want Alan so badly? And Undertaker?"

"Alan’s a good agent an’ if they get him under their thumbs, they’ll have me by the balls," admitted Eric with a frown. He examined a flower absently. "As fer Undertaker, I’m pretty sure they want tae recruit him ‘cause he can wake the dead, so tae speak. An army of undead would make it easier fer them tae take over internationally an’ keep any resistance in line."

He looked at Grell curiously. “Wha’ have ya seen that I haven’t, Grell? Wha’s got ya so spooked, and what’re they holding o’er yer head tae make ya so desperate to recruit th’ Undertaker?”

Grell shook his head. “I can’t say. I don’t know much. But those I have been sent after to collect, the ones not to be killed, they have all been unique in some way.”

He paused and swallowed. Then looked around making sure no other reapers were within earshot. “I think they want Alan, because of his thorns. As for Undertaker…you’re correct. I can’t tell you anymore beyond that. I’ve sworn not to discuss why they want Undertaker and my conditions involving him. You just have to trust me.”

Eric frowned at that. He’d been shown how the procedure to cleanse the Thorns worked, but he hadn’t been told how many reapers had undergone it successfully. It made him wonder if the treatment was still in experimental stages, and if they wanted to use Alan as a test subject. It made his heart go cold. If the professor was lying to him, he would make him pay…make him wish he’d been reaped.

"Come on," he said at last. "Our lunch won’t finish itself and we’ll have tae go back tae the office, soon."

Giggling, Grell stood up and straightened his skirt. “I was suppose to be there hours ago. I got sick and tired of being called in so early in the morning. I decided to make them wait for me.”

Eric grinned. “Ye’ve go’ a lot of gumption, Sutcliff. Glad tae see someone isn’t cowed by ‘em, besides meself. Bastards think they’ve go’ us all under their heels, an’ maybe they do fer now, but tha’s no’ tae say it’ll be tha’ way forever.”

He sighed as they returned to the picnic table, and he resumed eating his meal without any real appetite. He’d lost a little weight over the weeks since Alan left, often forgetting meals entirely due to being overworked and stressed. True, he’d been overworked plenty of times in the past, but he had his comrades at his side and he could trust the reapers he worked with. Now there was only Grell, and they both obviously had reservations thanks to all this mess.

"I’m glad yer no’ jus’ blindly giving in," he confessed, "an’ maybe I’m selfish, but I’m also glad ye stayed on when ya could have run like th’ others. At least I’ve go’ _one_ reaper I can trust. At least, I _hope_ I can trust ya. I took a big risk, telling ye wha’ I know. Dun’ make me regret it.”

He chewed and swallowed a morsel, before regarding Grell seriously. “How are ya plannin’ tae get Undertaker on their side, by tha way? They’ve been trying tae get tha man in their ranks from tha beginning. Tha’s one tough assignment.”

Grell looked down at his bowl of chicken. He could feel his cheeks warm and he knew he was blushing. Desperately, he stabbed a piece of chicken with the tip of one of his chopsticks. “I am suppose to do whatever it takes.” he mumbled before stuffing his face.

“‘Wha’ever it takes’, eh?” Eric frowned, then smirked. “Wha’ are ya s’posed tae do…hogtie tha man and drag him into Dispatch? I cannae imagine anyone making tha Undertaker do a bloody thing he doesn’t want to.”

"Something like that." Grell replied swallowing his bit of food. He averted his gaze as he picked up his drink and took a sip. "I’ve at least perked his curiosity."

Eric’s teasing look faded, to be replaced by a pensive frown. “I’m gettin’ worried about ya, Grell,” he said honestly. The mad old mortician was nobody to fuck with. The state that the last group of reapers sent to parlay with him came back in was proof of that. “Do ya need someone at yer back?”

His desire to protect him was sincere; he’d always been a protective sort and now Grell was the only friend he had in Dispatch. He kind of thought of him as a girl and that brought out the chivalry in him as much as Alan’s gentle innocence did.

Grell raised his head and looked over at the blond. His tongue was pushed to the inside of his cheek. He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. “Thank you, but I do not need any help. I have everything under control. He just needs more incentive.”

Eric sighed. “Dangerous business, tha’. I dunno wha’ kind of incentive ye plan tae give him, but just be careful. Tha offer still stands if ya get in o’er yer head, Red. Och…I dinnae mean tae rhyme jus’ then.”

He flushed, embarrassed. For a second, he wondered what Alan would think of his offering to try and protect Grell, but he knew in his bones that his sweet-natured partner would approve. Alan always seemed to like Grell and he never teased him the way some of the other reapers tended to. Eric smiled a little, missing him even more.

"I know Al would want it tha’ way," he murmured, unable to hide his lovesick expression. "He’d tell me tae watch yer back, if he were here now."

"Eric, trust me. I can handle the grave-digging fool. All he ever does is hide in one of his caskets and then pops out at me. He attempts to scare me, but I have gotten a few blows in myself." Grell rolled his eyes and rotated his wrist, a piece of chicken being whisked around and around on the end of his chopstick.

The Scotsman chuckled. “I imagine if anyone could handle that cagey old fossil, it’d be ya. Jus’ watch yerself, is all I’m sayin’.”

Driven by impulse as much as a need to connect, Eric leaned over and gave the redhead a quick kiss on the cheek. “Alan wouldnae forgive me if I let anythin’ happen to ya. We’re few enough as it is an’ I’ve go’ a bad feeling you and I could come under tha scythe soon ourselves, if we aren’t careful.”

Surprised by the unexpected kiss, Grell stared back wide eyed and unblinking, his lips parted slightly. The chopstick in his hand frozen in mid twirl as his wrist stopped mid rotation. A tinge of pink dusted his nose and his cheeks warmed once more. “E-Eric?”

"Mm?" mumbled the blond around another bite of food, having settled back to his original posture to finish his meal. He looked at Grell curiously and upon seeing his blush, it dawned on him that his actions might not have been appropriate…or wise.

“‘M sorry, Grell,” he mumbled with a grimace, wiping his mouth. “Did I mess up? I dinnae mean tae make ya uncomfortable. I jus’…don’ want tae see ya get hurt, is all. Prolly shouldn’t have done that, aye?”

At once, he felt guilty…like he’d been unfaithful to Alan. He hadn’t meant it as more than an innocent peck of affection, but now he realized that if he weren’t so madly in love with his partner, that little kiss could have been something more. Before he started falling for Humphries, he’d often admired Grell’s glorious red locks from afar and more than once, he’d contemplated asking him for a date.

He began to blush. “Ah, shit…I _did_ screw up. Grell…I jus’…tha’ wasnae s’posed tae be a come-on. I…I love Alan. I know ya love Will, too. Gods, I’m such an ass.”

Slowly, Grell’s head shook side to side. “No…umm…it’s just… Eric. I would…well.” He paused briefly before blurting out his next sentence. “We use to nearly hate each other.”

Grell’s cheeks grew even more red with embarrassment. “That didn’t come out right. Let me try again. You just surprised me is all. I know you aren’t coming on to me. You have never looked at me as a potential and I have always been enamored with Will. And we use to…well frankly, hate each other. So I am sorry. I was just surprised by…by your kissing me is all.”

Wanting to reassure the blond, Grell sat his utensil down and took a deep breath. He reached over, placed his hand over Eric’s and smiled. “You didn’t cheat on Alan, Eric. You kissed me on the cheek. Not on the lips or sexually. Relax, you are in the clear.”

Eric swallowed, and he turned his hand over to give Grell’s a squeeze. “Thanks, red. I’ll be honest wi’ ya…I used tae be cross towards ya because I thought ya were pretty, an’ it confused me a lil’. I ne’er meant tae be an arse. I jus’ dinnnae know how tae talk to ye an’ I confess; before I started havin’ feelings fer Alan, I thought of asking ye out on a date. Thanks fer no’ making fun of me or being mean about it. I know it was jus’ a kiss on tha cheek, but…even tha’ made me feel like an eejit. Mah lips are s’posed tae be fer Alan alone, an’ I’m sorry I forgot tha’, even jus’ fer an innocent little peck. Yer a’right, Grell.”

"Now I know you’re lying. You never once thought about asking me out on a date. And if you kiss me like a sister, I am sure Alan could not care less. It isn’t like you have ever thought about bedding me." Grell giggled, picking up his bowl of food, but as he was about to take a bite he glanced over at his companion. The look on his face made Grell’s whimsical smile fade rather quickly.

"You weren’t joking were you?" he questioned as his mouth turned downwards.

Eric shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. I really thought of asking ya out on a date once or twice…but then, wull…”

He trailed off as he thought of Alan, and a little smile curved his lips. “Seems Alan had a way of putting my tomcatting ways tae rest. I cannae say when it happened, but sometime during his training an’ afterwards, I jus’ couldnae look at anyone else tha way I looked at him. Ya must think I’m a complete moron, Grell.”

He brushed his foot against the ground, absently sweeping aside some fallen leaves. “Go ahead an’ make fun o’ me if ya want. I s’pose I deserve it.”

"Eric Slingby, I would have never imagined you thought of me in such away. I just always thought you hated me. And no, I do not think you are a moron. Just a love sick nitwit." Grell teased as he grinned at the blond and then picked up his drink, taking another sip.

Eric grinned too, not denying it. “Ne’er thought I’d see tha day someone would pin me down, but I wouldnae have it any o’er way. Now I’ve just gotta keep Dispatch’s greedy paws off him long enough tae secure his treatment.”

He sighed, leaving off the fact that he was plotting to kidnap the professor that came up with the treatment, when the right moment presented itself. If it proved a success, he’d let the man go afterwards and then he’d have no reason to keep working with the enemy. He and Alan could try to build a life together—though he wondered what sort of life they’d have living on the run from authorities.

"Wha’ do ye plan tae do, Grell?" he asked curiously. "I mean if they dun’ keep their word to ya? Will ya stay wi’ ‘em, or will ya defect like tha others an’ go into hiding?"

"I don’t know." Grell answered honestly. "I would like to say I would defect and run, but I can’t say for sure. I suppose it would depend on the moment. And if anyone else was involved at the time. I am willing to do anything to keep Will alive and safe. If anything happens to him or Ronnie for that matter. I am not above slaughtering the lot of them all to protect my boys. Will may not return my affection, but I have cared for him for so long and I don’t take kindly to being double crossed. So they better not try to pull the wool over my eyes. I will paint Dispatch red if they do."

"I’m a little surprised," confessed Eric. "Ya always said if anyone’s gonna reap Spears, it’ll be you. Or is tha’ jus’ yer way o’ laying claim tae him?" He chuckled and took another bite of his meal.

Unnoticed by the two reaper agents, a raven landed on a branch in the tree shading their picnic spot. The bird watched them with remarkably intelligent, beady eyes as they chatted.

"No. I meant that." Grell chuckled. "That man drives me insane and if anyone is going to reap his ass, it will be me. But not because Dispatch forces my hand."

Eric laughed around his food, and he swallowed and wiped his mouth before responding. “Yer too much, Sutcliff. I know a lot o’ reapers tha’ would fight ya fer tha privilege though, thanks tae all th’ overtime he handed out in the past.” He sighed, going melancholy for a moment. “But ya know, I’d rather have Spears back an’ breathin’ down mah neck than having tae keep bending mah knee tae these bastards tha’ took over.”

He scratched his goatee and regarded the redhead with concern again. “Jus’ keep yer wits about ya when dealing wi’ tha Undertaker. He might be a kook, but he’s crazy like a fox. Half o’ tha’ giggling an’ drooling is jus’ an act. Dinnae forget tha’.”

"He is a pussy cat." Grell giggled, taking another bite. But as he glanced down at his bowl, an image of the Undertaker staring back up at him formed in his head. The image was from a memory, the memory of him just before he kissed the redhead. Grell felt warm once more and absentmindedly began to tug on his neck ribbon.

Eric frowned slightly. “If ye say so. I jus’ dun’ like it; them leaving you tae deal wi’ him all on yer own. Dunno wha’ ye’ve go’ in mind but…ah, hell. I’ve said all I can really say ‘bout it, haven’t I?”

He finished off his lunch and he tossed the container into the nearby park receptacle. Checking his watch, he swore softly. “Shite, we’ve gone o’er our lunch break. Time tae deal wi’ more fookin’ questions when I get back. I hope they’re no’ as suspicious o’ ya as they are o’ me.”

"Oh, umm…" Grell looked up, not having heard what the blond had been saying…only to discover Eric was finished with his lunch and waiting for him. "I’m sorry, I was not paying attention. I really do need to get back though."

Eric nodded, still looking faintly concerned. “Ya sure yer a’right, Grell?”

Grell nodded and smiled. “Yeah, just got a lot on my mind. I am dreading the meeting when I get back. Some big deal, apparently. I can’t image what it is. All they do is send me out on ‘collections’ or lecture me on how important it is to obtain Undertaker.”

Eric nearly groaned in sympathy for him, but he had his own problems to contend with and Grell had already assured him that he could handle himself. “Well, we’d best get goin’, then. Best not tae give ‘em more reason tae grill us, aye?”

"Yes., we should. I am going to get stern lecturing when I get back as is." Grell rolled his eyes and smirked. "I am so bad. One of the days I may need a serious punishing."

 

* * *

After Grell and Eric left the park, the raven that had been watching them flew away and vanished into thin air—or so it would seem to the eye that knew no better. In actuality, it returned through the portal opened up for it from the mortal realm. It flew over mortal London until it arrived at the south side mortuary, and it dove and flew through an open window in the back to land on the arm of the man that had sent it.

The grinning reaper listened to the raven’s squawks and clicks, nodding with interest. “So, I can expect another visit from the little rose, eh? Persistent thing, isn’t she?” He scratched his chin. “Or he. I’m still not quite sure about that. Makes no never mind to me, though. I’d be happy to provide some punishment if the lady so desires it.”

He’d gladly lift Grell’s skirts regardless of what was under them, if the opportunity presented itself.

"Ah, focus, old chap," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. Goodness, he should be too old to get so distracted by a pair of legs and long hair. He fed his companion a treat of dried meat from the bowl on the counter as a reward for his work.

"Go and tell your fellows to keep a sharp eye out," instructed the Undertaker. "I want to know the moment any Dispatch agent comes within blocks of my property—particularly _that_ agent.”

The raven cawed and flew back out the window to do his bidding. When it was gone, Undertaker closed the window and he went into the shop portion of his property to sit down at his desk and dial up one of the phone numbers he’d memorized.

"It’s me," he said when someone picked up on the other line. "Tell Mr. Spears I have news for him. Your next safe haven would be Budapest. I wouldn’t advise you chaps to stay in one location for too much longer. Word has it they’re planning to close in on Denmark branches soon and I can’t say how much longer you have before the net starts to close. Don’t think they have any idea you’re all there yet, but I wouldn’t count on Copenhagen remaining safe for too much longer. Eh? Budapest is in Hungary, lad. Yeah, that’s right."

He sighed. “I don’t care how bloody inconvenient you think it is. Unless you blokes and the ladies with you want to trek through Germany—which is completely taken over, by the way—it’s the nearest locale with a clear enough path for you. Trust me, I haven’t lived this long by making wild guesses, despite my reputation. Just relay that information to Chilly Willy for me, and tell him I’ve started keeping an eye on his little friend Sutcliff and the Scotsman. Ta.”

He hung up the phone and tapped his long nails on his desk. Again, he wondered why he was helping these outcasts. So much for staying perfectly neutral in this.

 

* * *

Lawrence Anderson gestured for Grell to come in when the crimson reaper opened the door. “Please have a seat, Officer Sutcliff. I shall try to make this brief, so that we may both get on with our duties.”

He opened up a folder filled with documents and he slid it over his desk, turning it around so that Grell could look through the paperwork. “First, I regret to inform you that your request to bring your former companion back from the dead simply cannot be granted…unless you manage to procure the loyalty of the Undertaker. He is the only one with the potential to actually accomplish such a feat. Bear it in mind that this isn’t exactly a ‘no’. I’m merely informing you that if you want the organization to fulfill that particular bargain, you must fulfill yours as well.”

Grell’s lip curled as he took a seat and ignored the file. He looked over at the graying reaper in front of him and growled. “I am well aware of that fact, _Mister Anderson_. I do not need to be reminded, yet again. And as I said before, I will get Undertaker to join Dispatch. Don’t you worry that little _old_ head of yours. I’ll be returning to his shop after I leave here. Though it wouldn’t hurt to offer him something else. He has already stated that he needs nothing that you have already offered.”

Anderson smiled in a manner that was particularly chilling, for a man that was once so beloved and respected by so many. “There is one thing that could yet be offered to him, Sutcliff.” He nodded at the documents again. “Two, in point of fact. You may present the photographs inside to him, and then use whatever means necessary to sweeten the deal. Let him know that if he cooperates, he will be issued one of these very special scythes. They’re far more conventional than any model created up to now.”

Peeking at the pictures, Grell’s eyes widened and then he looked up at his new boss. “How? How are you making those into scythes?” He pointed to one of the photos of the newly designed scythes. “Those are mortal weapons. They are not made for reaping. Are you and the others loosing your oversized, fucking heads? Undertaker will never accept that as a bargaining chip. Nor do I. I won’t use one of those things. My scythe has been adapted for my taste. I won’t be a coward and take my targets out from a distance.”

He pushed his chair back and stood, walking to the window he leaned against the frame. His arms crossed over his chest as he peered out through the tinted glass. “I need a better offer for him. I can sweeten it only so far without sleeping with him.”

Lawrence drummed his fingers on his desktop impatiently. “I really don’t care about your personal opinion concerning the new scythes, Sutcliff; and neither does the board. For that matter, we don’t care _how_ you win the Undertaker over, just so you do it. If your body is the only bargaining chip you are prepared to use, so be it. I merely offer this as a last ditch alternative to spare you the indignity. If you aren’t prepared to deliver your end of this bargain, then consider the other conditions of your contract null and voice. You may even find yourself making the list of officers to be replaced, if you aren’t careful with how you handle this.”

Grell spun around and glared at the reaper. The curls dangling from his ponytail bobbing from the movement. He uncrossed his arms and marched over to the desk, slamming his fists down up the glass top. His lip curled once more in disgust.

"Fine. I will present your new so called scythes to him and if that is not enough…I will seduce him."

Anderson nodded in approval. “Good luck to you, then.”

 

* * *

Alexander covered his mouth on a yawn, blinking tired eyes at the computer screen as he searched through the database he’d broken into. He reached for his coffee, grimacing at the bitter flavor as he swallowed. He was more of an energy drink kind of guy, but he sadly had no access to that here and he had to settle for instant coffee, instead.

"I don’t know why I let them talk me into this," he complained as he searched through the files for anything that might give them a heads-up on the enemy’s next move. Spears was right, though; there best bet on staying under the radar was to stay a step ahead of enemy authorities and see them coming before they even moved in on them.

That logic was never more accurate than now, he discovered, as he found something that made his eyes widen. “Oh shit…they’re here already.”

Alexander adjusted the cap on his head and he snatched up his pen, putting it between his teeth for a moment while he searched for his pad of paper. He took the pen in hand and he wrote down the coordinates he’d found, cursing under his breath. Hoping he was wrong, he hacked into the signal he’d found and he put his headphones on, turning the volume up on the laptop to hear it better.

"Shit!" He tore the headphones off and got out of his chair, stumbling in his haste and nearly pitching forward onto his face. He closed the laptop, unplugged it from the wall and stuffed it into its carry bag.

It seemed they should have heeded the Undertaker’s warning a bit sooner and moved on…but they still had time to get out if they moved fast.

 

* * *

Alan was feeling strangely out of breath as he packed up a box of important provisions they needed to take with them on their run to a new location. He’d only packed and moved three boxes, but it felt as if he’d done thirty as he closed up the top of the box with packing tape and heaved it into his arms. A slight sweat broke out over his skin as he slowly made his way over to set the box down next to their soon-to-be former main room.

"Hey—you okay, Al?" Ron asked, having just come out of his and William’s former shared room with the last of the things they had kept in there, "You seem…tired. Did you not get enough sleep?"

"I’m fine, don’t worry." Alan reassured him, "You should work with Mister Spears to start moving these through to the new location. We’re using a portal, right?"

"Fastest way." Ron nodded.

"Then I’ll get the rest of the things packed up and ready to be moved with young Jeffries." Alan set down the box in the pile and walked back into the back room that had been his shared bedroom while they were there. "That box ready to be taken out?" He asked Alex, and when the reaper nodded, he bent over to pick it up.

However, half-way to the door, He doubled over, gasping as a sharp pain shot through not his heart, but his gut. “Ahg!”

Jeffries rushed to his side to support him. “Yikes…easy there,” said the auburn-haired reaper as he helped Alan to set the box down. “What happened? Did you strain your back or something? Is it the Thorns? Do I need to get someone?”

There weren’t really any certified Shinigami doctors they could turn to, but a couple of the reapers that had joined their ragtag group had medical training. Both of them had been nurses, before they fled London after the doctor they worked under disappeared.

Alan shook his head, holding his lower stomach, “No…I just…cramped up or something…It’s not Thorns or my back…” He set down the box and took a deep breath, “I don’t…normally get cramps…it’s…I should be fine, it’s just odd…”

Alexander lifted his cap to comb his bangs back under them and out of the way, and he reached into his pocket for the little salt container he kept there. He pinched some of the white substance out of it and threw it over his shoulder. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but you haven’t seen a real doctor for a checkup since this started, right? I think maybe you should take it easy and let the rest of us do the lifting, just to be safe.”

"But then I’d be dumping all the work onto everyone else. It isn’t right, and it’s not like it’s my illness. It’s just I’ve been getting cramps the past two days and feel tired randomly…I’ll be fine. I’m sure it will pass."

Jeffries still looked concerned, but he sighed and nodded. “If you say so, I can dig it. At least stick to the lighter things, okay?”

He picked up the heavier box that Alan had been attempting to lift earlier, and he carried it out to be transported through the portal with the rest of them.

Alan sighed, taking a deep breath and tried to suppress the painful cramps before getting up and moving to find a lighter box. He would take a nice hot soak in a tub once they got all moved in order to ease the cramps.

* * *

-To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

The bell over head jingled. As usual, the redhead entering the dimly lit shop ignored it. He had a purpose and a job to do. He stopped just inside the door and looked around the shop. Just as he expected, Undertaker was hiding. The game was growing irksome to Grell and he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the locked shop door.

"Undertaker, must we do this again or won’t you make this easier on yourself and come out? I promise, I will be more gentle this time!" He called out, narrowing his eyes on the coffins lining the walls. "And this time, no zombies. While I enjoy playing with dolls, I much prefer the kind that don’t try to take my legs off."

One of the coffin lids creaked open, and the mortician peeked out. His fingernails drummed on the side of it and he grinned at the sight of the redhead, taking note of the way he’d tensed, then relaxed up on seeing it was him and not a bizarre doll. “Well hullo again, Miss Sutcliff. What a pleasant…surprise.”

He stepped out of the coffin and glided over to the redhead, stopping just short of him and looming as usual. “There now,” he murmured, teeth bright and straight in a smile too broad to be considered completely friendly. “Have I made it easier on myself? Of course, I have no idea what ‘it’ is, this time.”

His eyes glittered beneath his bangs, and he took his hat off and twirled it by the brim.

Grell averted his gaze and huffed, his lip curling. “Everything is a joke with you. You know why I am here. Why play games? I have something else they want me to present you this time.”

He turned his gaze back to the mortician, softening his gaze a tad. “Do you want to be a gentleman this time or are we going to have our usual tussle before we talk?”

"I’m a terrible cad, I know," chuckled the mortician. He shrugged and walked over to one of the coffins that were lying on the floor, seating himself on the lid and patting the spot beside him. "Well come on, then. Show me what sort of ‘goodies’ they’re trying to tempt ol’ Undertaker with next, Miss. I’m at least curious enough to abide your company for a bit."

"Abide" wasn’t quite the word for how he felt about this unique reaper’s company. Truthfully, Undertaker found Grell more entertaining and interesting than the rest…hence he didn’t want to chase him away too quickly with overtly aggressive gestures.

"Be still my beating heart!" Grell exclaimed over dramatically as he placed his hands over his heart. "Are you daring sir, to be a gentleman this time?"

Grell sauntered over slowly, stopping in front of the sitting reaper. He unclasped his clutch and pulled out a picture for the man to look at.

"This is the latest modification in scythes. It will be issued starting next week as a standard issue. All reapers will be taking crash courses to learn how to use them as scythes. The higher-ups are prepared to issue one as well as a phone. I of course told them you couldn’t care less, but I was told to present it regardless." he explained as he sat down on the coffin and crossed his legs. He reared back and looked up at the ceiling.

Undertaker stared at the photos with a perplexed frown. “Just what in bugger is _this_? Tell me these blokes don’t expect me to put away my precious ‘skull’ in exchange for a popper! And they call _me_ mad!”

He looked at Grell and he tilted his head, suspecting a trick. Reapers using firearms? He didn’t know the redhead intimately, but from what he’d learned of him he couldn’t really see Grell abandoning his precious chainsaw for a gun. “Not too observant, are they love? To think reapers like us would trade something as personal and graceful as a hand scythe for a noisy boomstick…though I’ll admit your scythe of choice isn’t exactly the quietest thing in the world.”

Rotating his ankle in thought, Grell didn’t at first realize he was being spoken to, but as the Undertaker’s gaze settled onto his face, Grell glanced up at him. “Yes well, they won’t have her. She is my treasure and they will have to pry her from cold dead hands before I will give her up. However, they are forcing me to take one of these mortal, altered weapons as a companion to my baby. They say it will make my job easier.”

Undertaker snorted. “Rubbish. Poppers might have good range, but the accuracy is horrid and you’d have to chase down your target to collect the records! Goodness gracious, why are you _with_ these folk?”

On sudden impulse, he cupped Grell’s chin and threw the files to the floor. “My answer’s still no as always, little rose. Pity though…” He smiled. “I think you’re too good for the likes of those jack-robbers. Still, I appreciate the visit.”

Driven by the same mischief as before, Undertaker captured Grell’s lips in a kiss…fully expecting outrage in response but unable to stop himself from satisfying the desire to do so again.

Round, wide eyes slowly began to flutter closed as Grell gave into the warm affection his lips were receiving from the man he had been so distracted by over the past few weeks. Each encounter with the eccentric old fool had fed his imagination, his thoughts and his dreams, and truth be told, he had been looking forward to seeing the retired reaper once more….though he had hoped it would not have to come to seduction. He genuinely had come to enjoy their little chats and fits of play, on his visits. But deep down, Grell knew it would eventually come to this. If he couldn’t convince Undertaker to join and reenter Dispatch, he would seduce him into it. And the way he was being kissed right now…that shouldn’t prove to be too terribly difficult.

"Undie…we need… need to.. talk." Grell murmured into the kiss as he took tiny breaths.

The mortician pulled away and looked at him curiously. “Oh?” The grin returned to his lips. “About what, lovely?”

He had a feeling he already knew, but he didn’t want Grell to rush off right away. Of all the reapers that had come bothering him lately, this one’s visit he minded the least. He watched Grell from beneath the hanging fringe of his bangs, admiring his pretty, feminine visage. Such a lovely little thing. It occurred to him that he wasn’t strictly spying on the crimson reaper for the sake of figuring out what his motives were, and he grimaced a bit. How annoying. He actually had a _crush_ on the spicy darling.

Grell stared back at the legendary reaper. He was supposed to say something here. What was it? He couldn’t remember. His heart was racing and he couldn’t seem to find his voice in that instant. On an impulse of his own, he shoved the mortician off of the coffin, and the goofy ancient landed on his back. Grell pounced and landed on top of him, straddling him much like he did the first time he came to the shop. But this time, he was not attempting to retrieve his glasses from the jokester. No, this time he was wooing the man.

Undertaker’s eyes widened beneath his now mussed bangs, and he blinked up at the unpredictable reaper now straddling him. His toothy grin hid his trepidation as he reached up to cup the back of Grell’s head, acting on impulse to try and level the playing field. He pulled him down for a quick smooch, expecting it to shock and confuse the agent as it seemed to do twice before.

Grell’s eyes closed as he pressed into the kiss, lips parting a hair. He rocked his hips forward, grinding his pelvis into the Undertaker’s. He reached up and tugged the ribbon in his hair. A curtain of crimson cascaded all around them.

Well, _that_ wasn’t quite the reaction the mortician had been expecting. His intent to throw him off guard evidently backfired on him in a most…pleasant way. He impulsively sucked on the tongue probing his mouth and he put his arms around the slender, younger reaper, his head full of questions even as his body reacted on instinct. How long had it been since someone kissed him like this? He couldn’t remember.

Panting, Grell broke the kiss and looked down at the confused mortician.

"I locked the door when I entered." The redhead confessed as he sat up on top of the heaving reaper. Grinning wickedly, he untied the scarf and slid it from around his neck.

"Don’t be afraid to touch me." He added as he started popping the buttons on his waistcoat.

"Must have hit my noggin harder than I thought," muttered the Undertaker, his sleepy gaze widening again. Was this Dispatch agent really about to shag him, right there on the floor of his shop? Uncommonly nervous all the sudden, the mortician swallowed. "Here now, what are you up to?"

The last button gave on Grell’s waistcoat and he tossed it across the room. He leaned back down and kissed the Undertaker’s lips, then his cheek. Slowly, he moved towards his ear and whispered, “You…I hope.”

Gently, he tugged on the ancient’s ear lobe as his hands began to fumble with the buttons on the Undertaker’s robe. The mortician’s breath quickened with excitement, and he rapidly hardened in his pants. His only company for years had been the dead, and he really wasn’t used to interacting with the living except for business purposes. He put his hands on Grell’s hips and he closed his eyes, shivering a little with nervous anticipation as his robes were parted. Never had he wished he didn’t wear so many layers, before now. He started to ask a question again, but the part of him that longed for physical contact with a warm, living being told him to shut his gob and just enjoy it while it lasted.

Grell scooted down the mortician’s body and tore open the robes he was wearing. Exposing the scarred, pale flesh of his torso. The redhead giggled as he gazed over the retired reaper’s physique. “Who’d ever have imagined such a delightful specimen was hidden beneath all that black. You are simply gorgeous, my darling.”

Undertaker glanced down at himself, and an uncommon blush put a bit of mortal coloring in his cheeks. He hadn’t gotten a compliment like that since…well, since before he defected and got carved up. “Think so, do you?”

Still suspecting he’d been knocked out and was dreaming this all up, he put aside the glasses and he began to unbutton Grell’s blouse to bare more of his skin. His lust was rising and he reckoned if this really was just a dream, he might as well enjoy it. “You’ve got lovely skin, my dear,” he murmured as he parted the material of the blouse to expose the redhead’s smooth, creamy flesh. He gently circled his nipples with his fingertips, making them harden. His breath quickened further and he lifted up a little, pressing the evidence of his desire firmly against the apex of Grell’s thighs. Unable to help himself, he sat up and began to do with his tongue what his fingers had been doing moments ago, tracing the pebbled nipples one at a time before taking the right one between his lips.

And people thought _he_ was unpredictable.

"Ahh…" Grell gasped, his head falling back from the sensation. "Undie…"

Gradually, the redhead raised his head and looked down at his prey. He watched, mouth agape, as the Undertaker feasted upon his pink flesh. Gently he wrapped his hands around the mortician’s silver head and held him close.

"How do I taste, love?" he asked breathlessly.

"Mmm, like peaches and cream," murmured the ancient. "What a lovely dessert to enjoy after breakfast."

Now fully into it and feeling more confident, the mortician slid a hand up Grell’s thigh to palm the swell of his groin through the panties he wore. The evidence that the redhead was just as aroused as he was further bolstered his confidence, and he rubbed his thumb over where the tip of Grell’s sex was pressing against the satin panties, and a spot of moisture grew there.

Grell’s hips bucked and he ground his erection into the Undertaker’s hand. He growled, animalistic as he covered the mortician’s mouth with his own, his tongue plunging back into the retired reaper’s mouth. His hands began to wander back down to the mortician’s shoulders. He pawed franticly at the fabric of his robes, nearly desperate to be rid of the drab clothing. 

He was there to proposition the ancient. Convert him to the cause. Get him to return to Dispatch, make him a reaper again, by any means necessary. He knew the ancient fancied him. He had known for sometime, despite the incident on the ship Campania. That was the reason why Dispatch assigned him this task. Grell was an opportunity Undertaker could not pass up. Sex. Use sex, they had said. Make him happy. Whatever it takes, just get him to return to Dispatch. They didn’t care that the redhead was still bitter about the ship. That even though, he found Undertaker desirable, he had no serious interest in the man. But Grell had sold his soul to protect his friends. The reapers in charge dangled that carrot prominently before his eyes. He had no choice. There was no going back now.

Grell pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on his task. He had a job to do and the sooner he got done with it, the better. He wanted no romantic entanglements. He new this was dangerous territory and he didn’t want to get trapped.

As a reckless sort of madman, Undertaker could appreciate the redhead’s aggression—but the calculating part of him reminded him that he had come for a reason, and shagging him probably wasn’t it. Or was it? One of the things that he enjoyed about Grell Sutcliff was his unpredictability. He grinned against his lips and he shrugged out of his robes, interested to see where this would go. He used his fingernails to tug the top of Grell’s panties down and expose him under the skirt, and he fondled the swollen length he found there.

This was even more fun than their encounter on the Campania, even if it was some ploy to try and trap him.

"Uhh…ahh…Undertaker…" Grell groaned, breaking the kiss. He dug his nails into the scarred, pale flesh of Undertaker’s back. Panting heavily, he gazed down into the green-yellow eyes watching his face. A shiver jolted down his spine and he trembled from the Undertaker’s touch.

"Mmm, purring like a kitten," murmured the ancient. He helped the redhead out of his blouse and tossed it aside. "And kitty likes to scratch. I approve."

He stroked the length of Grell’s erection slowly, the flush fading from his cheeks as he got more comfortable with the interactions. He was out of practice, but unlike his “children”, he wasn’t dead. He was, however, interested to see what Grell would do if he gave him free reign. Still fondling him, he laid back and folded his free arm behind his head to pillow it, gazing up at the agent with lazy, sensual eyes.

"And what is it you’d like to do with me, miss?"

Grell ran his nails up the Undertaker’s torso, the tips of his nails drawing blood in their wake. Staying quiet, Grell leaned forward and pressed the tip of his tongue to the mortician’s stomach. His eyes closed as he slowly slid his tongue up one of the scratch trails, lapping the ancient blood like a kitten.

"Salty and sweet." Grell murmured as he languidly opened his eyes and locked gazes with the Undertaker.

The mortician took the punishment without complaint, flashing a white smile at him. He bumped his swollen package against Grell’s thigh enticingly. “Have a bit of a taste for blood, do you darlin’?”

He’d suffered far deeper cuts than this, and the eroticism blending in with the discomfort only excited him more.

"And you…" Grell nipped the budding nipple he was encircling with his tongue. "does blood excite you?"

He covered the bleeding flesh with his mouth and suckled. “Mmm…” he moaned. The ancient’s blood was arousing and intoxicating. Grell’s sex pressed into the mortician’s abdomen anxiously.

Undertaker gasped and then twirled a lock of his silver hair around a pale finger behind his head, his grin never fading. “There isn’t much that _doesn’t_ excite me, now that you mention it. Anything that distracts from the doldrums of everyday life makes me happy.”

He stopped his fondling and he traced his way up from the redhead’s groin to his navel with a long, black nail. “Want me to scratch back, kitten?”

"If you like." Grell smiled and stood, still straddling the mortician. He hiked his skirt a tad higher and reached beneath its hem to pull his panties all the way off. Teasingly, he twirled them around his index finger like bait.

"That is if you can catch me." He giggled and gave the Undertaker a wink. Then in a flash of red, he dropped the silk on the mortician’s stunned face and took off running. He snatched his clutch up from the floor, coming to a skidding halt in front of the store counter.

Catching on to the game, Undertaker flipped to his feet with the ease of an acrobat and he caught up with Grell easily, catching him around the waist with one arm and grabbing a handful of his long red tresses with his free hand. He tugged on his hair and forced his head back, pinning him against the counter from behind.

"So that’s the way of it, eh? You want a bit of rough and tumble from me, love?"

He smiled and purred into Grell’s ear. “I can accommodate that, too.”

He kept his hold firm on his hair and he released his waist to hike his skirt up, baring his ass and groin. He captured the swollen shaft of his arousal in his hand and he resumed stroking it. He tongued Grell’s ear as he steadily pumped his hand with a different goal in mind than simple pleasure. He pressed his bulging package against the redhead’s bare bottom and rubbed against the cleft between the cheeks insinuatingly. His pants were delightfully restrictive over his goods, uncomfortable yet titillating at the same time. A little spot of dampness formed as his arousal increased with the friction and he groaned softly.

"I was counting on that." Grell replied breathlessly as his nails dug into the wooden surface of the counter. Feeling the Undertaker’s groin press into his back side, he wiggled. "I have some things in my purse… ahh …that could be helpful… nngh …my dear."

The mortician found that as somewhat of a relief. Not that he couldn’t have managed without modern products, but in his lust, he’d plumb forgotten about the possibility of certain little accidents occurring without proper precautions. His most recent lovers—of which there hadn’t been many—had been human and thus reproductively incompatible with him. He stopped fondling Grell to grip his hip, and he loosened his hold on his hair enough for him to have the head movement necessary to search through the aforementioned purse.

"Feel free, darlin," he panted, kissing his shoulder. "I’ll just…amuse myself…while I await your tender mercies."

He slid his hand around back from Grell’s hip and he traced the cleft between the redhead’s buttocks, skimming the sensitive skin before cupping his balls to massage them.

Grell’s body jerked when the Undertaker’s fingers caressed him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed forward onto the counter, gasping. “I…I Can’t… Oh Heavens! I can’t when… mmm… when you touch…”

The Undertaker’s touch was gentle and yet firm. Grell couldn’t remember the last time he had been fondled so sensually. He bit down on his bottom lip and fumbled with his purse. It was pure torture and he loved every minute of it. Clumsily, he flipped open the red leather flap. His red painted finger tips found the small bottle of personal lubricate. It was designed with a little something extra for added pleasure.

"Here…" Grell said as he reached over his shoulder, in attempt to hand his partner the bottle.

Undertaker released Grell’s hair to take the bottle. He popped it open one-handed using his thumbnail to flip the top, and he squinted at the lettering on it curiously. “Hmm, cherry… _flavored_? My, how interesting.”

He shrugged. He’d never used anything flavored to lubricate with before, and it gave him an idea that had him smirking and was sure to drive his new playmate wild. He withdrew his hand from between his legs and he squirted some onto his fingers. Rather than go straight back for the sack, he smeared it over the rosy pucker that was his ultimate goal. Setting the bottle aside on the counter for the moment, he went to his knees. He squeezed Grell’s cheeks and he spread them to give himself more access, before circling the freshly lubed ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue.

"Undie? What are… Undie!" Grell shouted as he rose upon his toes and pressed his forehead into the cool surface of the counter.

That tongue, that glorious tongue circling his sensitive entrance. Grell felt like his soul was going to fly right out of his body. He clung desperately to the other side of the wooden panel as he squirmed, unable to remain still. This reaper was going to be the end of him, sharing pleasures he had never endured before.

Undertaker ignored the squirming and he delved the tip of his tongue inside briefly, before withdrawing it again and stroking around the entrance. “Mm, it _does_ taste like cherries,” he remarked before continuing. He unfastened his pants as he licked the sensitive flesh for a bit, before penetrating again, his long tongue slipping in with ease. He began to tongue him rhythmically and he reached up blindly for the lube bottle on the counter while he distracted Grell with his oral ministrations, and he left off squeezing his ass to deposit more of the gel onto one hand.

He set the bottle back onto the counter and he grabbed the redhead’s left cheek again, while reaching around his hips with the other one. He slicked the lube over Grell’s erection and he purred as he stroked it firmly, all the while tonguing him persistently.

Instinctively Grell’s hips bucked, he groaned, arching his back inwards. “Oh Lucifer!”

The friction of flesh on flesh sent tiny shivers of pleasure from his head to his toes. Grell could have never imagined Undertaker was so skilled in the department of sex and erotic pleasures. Undertaker had always been so loony and crazy acting. Always hidden in a cloud of mystery and those bloody black robes of his. Grell could kick himself for never pursuing sex with him before now. All those opportunities wasted. The mental image of them fucking on the doomed ship appeared in his head and nearly blew his load earlier than desired. He grunted fighting the urge. He wanted it to last as long as possible. The mission could be damned.

Undertaker stopped tonguing Grell’s entrance to urge his legs further apart, and he cupped his balls from behind again. Nuzzling into the area, he ran his tongue over the sack and planted soft kisses on it. His stroking hand sped up, squeezing the redhead’s cock a little more firmly as he treated the tightened balls to as much attentive oral stimulation as he’d given his ass.

So tense…so passionate. He was aching for him. He’d admired this fey creature from afar for longer than he’d cared to admit, fascinated with his quicksilver behavior, his chameleon-like adaptive abilities and his glorious red hair. He wasn’t about to let a second of this encounter go to waste, even if Grell had an ulterior motive behind his initial, surprising advances. He groaned softly with relief as he freed himself from the constriction of his pants, his sex flushed and swollen with need.

"Under—Undertake—taker. Oh…ahh…Hell!" Grell panted, clawing the counter with his nails. "I-I c-can’t."

He gritted his teeth. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep from coming. The orgasm that was building deep from inside him was threatening to explode at any moment. He had been deprived for so long and now… now he was stimulated beyond imagination. His legs began to quake beneath him and his heart was pounding hard, so hard he could swear it was going to leap from his chest any second. Such a wondrous torment.

"Not yet," whispered the ancient when he felt Grell’s cock twitching, his balls tightening. "Not until I’m inside, lovely."

He stopped licking him and he slowed his strokes, gentling them. He reached for the lubricant again and he deftly squirted some more onto one finger to rub it over the agent’s entrance. He kissed Grell’s trembling shoulder, toning down his aggression a bit.

"Do you have some precaution available in that pretty handbag of yours, my dear?"

He’d nearly forgotten about the risks of sexual intercourse without a barrier. How funny it would be to find himself looking at an unexpected fruit of his loins. Or perhaps _not_ so funny. He could just imagine Grell introducing him to a son or daughter as the mad papa, and it wasn’t as amusing a prospect as he thought it would be. Caring for the dead was fine; caring for a child? Oh dear.

"Yes." Grell whispered as he pushed himself up, far enough to reach back into his purse.

A long strip of thirteen condoms unfolded from his hand. They were secured in red packaging and called “Rough Riders”. The red latex was ribbed designed, made for added pleasuring. They were Grell’s favorite kind. He rarely bought any other type. And today he made sure he had enough on hand for such a special occasion. It never hurt to be prepared, and Grell was _always_ prepared.

Undertaker stared at the array of them, briefly and unreasonably enchanted by the selection. He’d never seen anything like them—which reminded him of how long it had been since he’d made use of one.

"My, my…you do have elaborate taste, Miss Sutcliff."

He chuckled. Well, waste not, want not. He broke one package apart from the others and he tried to be careful as he peeled the rapper away. He poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he pinched the tip and rolled it onto his cock. It felt very strange to him…and a bit snug. It was faintly uncomfortable; but then he hadn’t put one of the contraptions on for quite some time. Trying to be careful with his nails, he made sure to sheath himself to the base and he took a little breath. It was pinching…but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He rather liked the added constriction. He reached for the lube again and he spread more over his now-sheathed erection, making sure to coat it liberally while again fondling Grell with his free hand.

"There we are," he purred, confident that all was in order. He grasped his condom-encased arousal and he rubbed it enticingly against Grell’s slick entrance. "Ready for me, darlin’?"

"Yes… I’m ready for you, my pet." Grell replied, a big grin carving across his lips.

The redhead looked over his shoulder back at the mortician. Eyes locked with each other, Grell’s began to expand with surprise as he felt the tip of Undertaker’s erection press into his body. His breath hitched as his body tensed slightly from the intrusion. Still he could not look away. He was captivated by the way the mortician was staring back at him.

It was painful at first as the Undertaker slowly slid deeper inside him. He held tightly to the counter for dear life, but as the man began to move gently within him, Grell’s body began to relax. His constricted breathing began to turn into moans of pleasure.

"Bloody hell," breathed the mortician, his vision blurring with pleasure.

Tight. Grell was very tight around him. He wasn’t expecting that. It had been some time since he’d been with anyone. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be inside of a lover, and for a moment he couldn’t even draw breath. His vision again focused on the long-lashed eyes staring over the creamy shoulder at him and he bit back a groan of delight. Gingerly at first, he withdrew to the tip, before rocking forward and filling Grell again. The redhead’s moan of pleasure gratified him, and he did it again…and again after that.

Instincts taking over, Undertaker resumed stroking Grell’s length as he began to pump slowly, adjusting to the feeling and finding his rhythm. “You feel…too good for your own good,” he announced breathlessly.

Grell pressed back up against the Undertaker, the back of his head coming to rest on his shoulder. He reached up behind him and latched onto the mortician’s silver mane.

"Un-Undie…mmm…ahh…" Grell moaned, dragging his nails across the Undertaker’s ancient scalp. Though he could not be for certain, he could swear he was drawing blood as they moved across his skin, beneath the silk tresses.

The mortician accepted the punishment stoically, too absorbed in the feel of being inside the redhead to mind the crimson droplets now absorbing into his pale hair. He began to thrust harder, putting his free arm around Grell’s waist to hold him close. He murmured incoherently into his ear, his black nails drawing pink lines over the redhead’s fair torso as they dragged along it. He slipped the hand stroking Grell’s erection lower and he palmed his balls, massaging them as his swollen length pumped steadily within him.

"You enjoying this…as much as I am, lovely?" gasped the ancient.

"Nnngh…yes." Grell replied, moaning. "Oh, tears of death, make me cry. Make me…ahh…scream."

Far be it from Undertaker to deny such a request. He took great delight in shoving the passionate redhead down by the back of the neck and pinning him there, his rhythm picking up to hard, sharp thrusts and his pale lips pulling back from his teeth in his aggression. It didn’t seem like enough for him, but it had been so long since he’d had an encounter of this nature. The slap of skin on skin was drowned out by the sounds of their vocal pleasure as he did his best to shag Grell silly.

He didn’t even notice the condom breaking.

Unexpectedly, Grell found his cheek pressed onto the counter top. The wind was knocked out of him as his tummy crashed into the edge of the counter. His brows pinched together as he stared at his clutch, lying just before his face. His nails dug deeper into the polished wood with each slamming thrust Undertaker drove into him. He was pleasantly surprised by how exuberant and aggressive the mysterious reaper was. He hadn’t expected him to be so full of vim and vigor. This…this was delightful, exciting and Grell was relishing every moment of it.

Undertaker didn’t even recognize the moans building in his throat as his own. He felt like he would soon burst with the pleasure and lust he felt. It vaguely occurred to him that he was getting more sensation now, but he didn’t question why that was. He leaned over the pinned agent and spoke into the shell of his ear, his breath hot and heavy against it as his hips snapped forcefully, driving his cock in deep with each pump. “Not how…I usually make someone scream,” he admitted, “but this is so much…more fun than scaring someone…wouldn’t you agree?”

Sweet river Styx…he hadn’t had _this_ much fun for some time. He could feel the telling way Grell’s balls were beginning to tighten up when he gave them another rub, and he hissed through his teeth, getting very close to his peak, himself.

Grell’s whimpers began to grow in volume. He was on the verge of screaming. His orgasm was driving closer to the edge and it would not be long before he erupted with all the force of a sleeping volcano. Then our of no where he trembled when the older reaper’s breath tickled his sensitive ear.

"This torture is…is…ahh… Undie! I’m gonna…I can’t!" Grell replied erratically, squeezing his eyes shut. His cock began to vibrate. "Under…taker!"

Clenching his teeth hard enough to feel his jaw creak, the mortician kept at it, pumping vigorously until that final cry burst from the younger reaper’s lips and his counter was splattered with the evidence of his release. He nearly cursed with relief, free to let go now that he’d given his companion the climax he so richly wanted to. Undertaker blurted nonsense in at least three dead languages as he followed Grell into that spiral of ecstasy.

It took him a while to catch his breath, and he was grinning happily, not particularly caring if Grell had an ulterior motive for this delightful encounter. It wasn’t until he pulled out that he realized why the sensations seemed to get more intense near the end.

"Oh dear."

 

* * *

Alan groaned, curled up in a ball on his cot in their newest safe place. He’d awoken with another case of extremely painful cramps that almost made him feel as if he’d get sick if he tried to uncurl himself too soon. His skin was cold and clammy, sweat forming on his forehead. As the days passed into weeks, it only seemed to get worse and more frequent, causing him to have to retire to his cot throughout the day more often than his actual illness did. He felt so guilty about it, not being able to take on his fair share of the work in their small but growing group of reapers hiding away from the new reaper government. But he did what he could when he could.

Others had joined them, but they were lacking a reaper doctor. They did have a couple of members of their group that were in the medical field, but not in the way they had hoped when they’d joined them. They were both still students, and beginners, at that. Both of them had looked at Alan, but they didn’t have the experience or knowledge that he needed to help much.

Once the cramps eased up enough to let Alan move, he pushed himself up and pulled on his jacket over his pajamas, before shuffling out to the kitchen where he found William making a pot of tea. He let the man know his plans for that morning and, promising that he’d be careful, he opened a portal and stepped through into one of the back rooms of Undertaker’s shop. He opened the door a crack and looked out, making sure the next room was safe and clear of reapers before stepping out, “Undertaker, Sir?”

Undertaker was in the middle of cooking some pancakes when he sensed the portal and heard the familiar, soft voice calling his name. He jumped a little, nearly dropping one of the flapjacks on the kitchen floor. “Goodness, these young folk love to give me a start,” he complained, but he genuinely liked Humphries and he was faintly concerned that his abrupt visit might be a portent of awful news. “In the kitchen, chap,” he called out.

He was still feeling a might distracted by his recent encounter with Grell Sutcliff, and try though he might, he couldn’t banish the memory of all the naughty goodness they’d gotten up to together. Grell had left rather abruptly once they finished up, and Undertaker kept the little hiccup of the condom tearing to himself. He got the distinct feeling that the crimson reaper regretted their encounter and being horribly socially awkward himself, he couldn’t think of what to say or do after that. Now he had yet another unexpected visitor, and his mind couldn’t help but go to dark places at the curious thought of why Alan would come to him without warning.

Alan turned and headed to the kitchen, pulling his jacket tighter around himself to better shield himself from the slight chill of the drafty little shop. “I’m sorry for showing up so suddenly, sir.” he apologized when he reached the kitchen, “But I don’t know what else I could do.”

Undertaker turned and he gestured at the small dining table and chairs with his spatula. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me all about it, then? I hope you fellows haven’t run into a spot of serious trouble from the authorities?”

He flipped the pancakes and shook the pan a little.

"No—nothing like that…this is more…personal. But I don’t have anyone else to go to about it." Alan explained as he sat down at the table, "I haven’t been in the best of health lately. I didn’t think it’s related to Thorns, but now I’m not so sure. It’s getting worse, and I can’t go to my doctor about it."

"No, I imagine you can’t," agreed the ancient softly. Even in a location that hadn’t yet been taken over by the aggressors, none of them could risk going to any Shinigami medical facility. Word might get back to the people hunting them and they could be tracked to their current hiding spot.

"What seems to be the trouble, lad?" He got out an extra plate out of courtesy and he divided the pancakes onto it and the one he’d gotten out for himself, before putting a dollop of butter on top of them and squirting some syrup over them. He equipped both plates with a fork and knife, before setting one down before his guest and taking his seat. "Have some breakfast and tell ol’ Unnie all about it, yeah?"

"Thank you, sir." Alan flushed, embarrassed that he had come so early and interrupted breakfast.

He let the butter melt a little over the cakes in silence a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “For some time now I have been sluggish and tired. It doesn’t take much for me to get out of breath when working and I have been getting very painful cramps that can render me immobile and make me feel nauseous. And it’s been getting worse.”

The mortician frowned thoughtfully as he began to cut into his breakfast. “Hmm, that’s a worry. Well, after we’ve eaten I can run some blood and urine tests on you. Could be another symptom of the Thorns or something else entirely. You did the right thing, coming to me. Odds are its stress related, but we’re best off ruling out more serious things first.”

He took a bite of his pancakes and he poured some milk from the pitcher for both of them. “Try not to let it worry you too much, ‘till we know what’s really going on. Death knows you’ve got enough on your plate.”

"I know, and I tried to ignore it but this morning I couldn’t move off my cot for an hour and a half." Alan sighed, cutting into his breakfast, "I hate not being able to help everyone at the safe place. I’m constantly having to stop and rest."

His description of the symptoms piqued Undertaker’s curiosity. “Then we’ll get cracking on this as soon as we finish eating.”

 

* * *

An hour later after giving Alan a basic physical and collecting some samples, Undertaker was stumped. Oddly enough, the Thorns didn’t seem to be active anymore. At first he wondered if the young man’s medication had managed to stunt them, but he knew such medications had never proven to do more than slow the growth of the Thorns.

"Hmm, what’s going on with you, Mr. Humphries?" he muttered as he examined a drop of his blood under the microscope. He didn’t have access to all of the advanced equipment of a Shinigami lab, but his gear was still quite advanced compared to every mortal medical facility.

He pondered the issue for a moment, sitting back on his stool and tapping his fingernails against the table. Alan was waiting in the parlor for the results, and he hated the thought of informing him that he just had no answers. He began to run through the symptoms and their possible causes in his head, casting his mind back to all the things he’d learned about reaper anatomy through the years. He began to cross things off the mental list. There weren’t many illnesses a Shinigami could contract to account for some of those symptoms.

"He can’t have an auto-immunity," reasoned the mortician, "there’s no evidence of that beyond the Thorns, and they’ve gone into remission. Why, though? What could make them stop growing entirely?"

He considered stress, exhaustion and malnutrition as possible culprits. That made some sense, but it still didn’t account for the Thorns going quiet. “Or could it be…”

There was _one_ thing he could think of that might account for it, but that seemed so ridiculous to him. Surely not. Alan was so…wholesome. Besides that, the only reaper that Undertaker could picture him being _less_ than wholesome with was his partner. Eric Slingby, however, did have a reputation as a player. He’d evidently worked hard to get Alan out of danger, as well. Could it be that the two of them got up to a bit of mischief before parting ways? Alan’s body language whenever he spoke of his partner suggested his feelings ran deeper than friendship, after all.

"Better be sure," mumbled Undertaker. Unlikely though it seemed, there was always the possibility.

 

* * *

"Alan, love, I’ve got good news and bad news," stated the mortician a short while later. He walked into the parlor where his guest sat reading a newspaper and sipping some tea, and he sat down across from him and regarded him with a little smile. "Which would you like to hear first?"

Alan looked up at Undertaker, “That depends,” he shrugged, “On which one is more overwhelming.” He didn’t want to be too distracted by one thing to not really hear the other. Either way it went in ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

"Hmm…" Undertaker’s pale, shaped brows hedged in thought beneath his bangs and he sucked on a fingernail contemplatively. Both of his discoveries were bound to come as a shock to the boy, no matter how delicately he tried to put it. He snorted. "Delicately" was a thing he simply did not do, when it came to communication.

"Well, m’dear, I reckon there’s not really a gentle way to put any of this, so I’ll just give you the good news first. Your Thorns are currently dormant. That means you’ve got a bit more time than before. The bad news—well, if you see it that way—is that the reason they’ve gone quiet is ‘cause you’re pregnant. I’d ask who the father is but I get the feeling he’s a certain tall blond with a Scottish accent and a powerful need to keep you safe and protected."

He smiled and propped his elbow on his knee as he crossed his legs, resting his chin in his palm. “Am I warm, chap?”

Alan found himself frozen in place, his eyes wide. He’d just been hit with a double dose of shock, which made him feel as if an avalanche had just rushed over him, throwing him out of his own world into another.

First off—Thorns were…cured, sort of? True, he hadn’t had an attack in a while…not even a minor attack had made itself known since he’d made his get-away. But it simply wasn’t possible… Thorns of Death were incurable and the best anyone could do is slow the progression with medication which he took four times a day. Plus if he needed an extra dose during a larger attack.

And then there was the second bit.

Pregnant.

No—no, that was impossible! He’d have to have had sex for that!

But he had…he and Eric had done just that. Only once, but they had… That night felt so much like a dream, though. And Eric never brought it up when he did call… as time passed it began to feel more like a fantasy than something real that they had shared in that dingy old motel room.

But it had only been _once_! How could he be pregnant from only one time?! For reapers, both genders were fully capable, but he was sure it took more than one time—and they had been careful, hadn’t they? Or had they? He couldn’t remember. Thinking back, all that came to mind was the way Eric’s hands slid over his bare skin. His husky whispers, the way his own voice cried out over and over again as they writhed in the tangle of sheets on the bed. Scythe, Eric was too sexy for his own good…

Alan’s face grew warmer and he made a small sound of shock.

Seeing the dawning look of comprehension on the brunet’s young face, followed by the dreamy look of reminiscence, Undertaker could easily guess where Alan’s thoughts took him. Clearly, this wasn’t an intentional conception. He felt a flash of unwilling pity for Humphries. On the run, stricken with a deadly curse and now pregnant, the boy had more balls in the air to juggle than any of his fellow refugees.

"I can do my best to give you the prenatal care that you need," offered the mortician on a whim. "I have the right connections to get my hands on the vitamin supplements you’ll probably need to take to keep a healthy pregnancy, li’l chap. I know it’s looking dismal right now, but there _is_ a silver lining. The Thorns aren’t likely to wake up again ‘till after you’ve given birth. Awful as your situation is right now, it’s bought you a li’l more than seven months extra on your lease on life. A lot could happen in seven months. Could be someone’ll come up with a cure.”

He shrugged. “You never can tell where fate’s going to take you.”

Alan looked up at the older reaper, his hands trembling in his lap slightly as more reality of his situation came crashing down on him. Eric wasn’t with him. He was with the enemy, chasing after another likely fake cure for Thorns. He was on the run and in hiding. He wasn’t in the best situation to be pregnant—planned or not, and he’d be bringing a baby into a dangerous world. And what if the baby got his illness, too? It was all too much!

"—Oh Rhea!" he choked out, tears stinging his eyes, "I—I can’t…I can’t do this… It was only one time and now…and Eric…and what if the baby…" he gasped for breath, trying to calm himself—much like he would for a Thorns attack.

"Settle down there, lad," soothed the ancient, reaching out to pat Alan’s shoulder gently. "Just take it slow. You’re all right. Working yourself into a state isn’t good for you _or_ the nugget you’re carrying.”

He frowned a bit, wondering how involved he should get himself in this situation. The more he interacted with these runaways, the harder it was to stay neutral…but his fondness for this particular youngun made objectivity even more fleeting. “Mayhap if you let your partner know he’s going to be a father, he’ll be more inclined to slip his leash and come away with you. I don’t personally know the man well enough to say, though.”

Alan glanced up at him, “He-he won’t. He thinks that they have a cure for my illness…nothing I can say will make him give up that opportunity.” He wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye, “And this…” he gestured around him, “This is no world to bring a kid into! A life on the run and a possible war isn’t a life for a baby! Not to mention the fact that we are constantly moving—what happens if the pregnancy gets complicated?”

"I thought you lot had someone with medical training with you now," said the mortician, "and I’m kicking myself even as I say this, but you can always come to me, lad. I might not have all the latest equipment but I’m a far cry safer to come to than any Shinigami doctor, right now. I know a thing or two about reaper pregnancies and they can’t track you here."

He considered another option and he offered it to Alan, though he doubted he’d take it. “If it’s too much for you, it’s not written in stone you’ve got to keep it. Nobody else but you and me need know a thing about it, chap. It’s not a pretty alternative, but it’s available to you nonetheless.”

"We do have someone—but he’s a beginner student." Alan sighed and bent over, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, "…I wish Eric were here…"

"I’ve no doubt of that," murmured Undertaker. He thought of his own recent encounter with Grell and he winced. "It could happen to anyone, I s’pose."

~Just don’t let it happen to me, for Styx’s sake. Blimey, how could I not notice the bloody cock sheath popped on us? I wonder how fertile Grell is…~

He really hadn’t thought much on it before now, but Alan’s situation reminded him that accidents could and did happen, even when one took proper measures to prevent them. He put aside his own mild anxiety over the thought of finding out he’d sewn a seed unintended, and he smiled at the brunet. “You ought to think on it for a bit, lad. Could be your Scotsman might surprise you, but even if you aren’t ready to tell him, the problem won’t go away on its own. Nippers are a big responsibility but you’ve already proven you’re tougher than you look.”

"But…it was my first time. I wasn’t even thinking and then he was gone when I woke up. I haven’t seen him since, and now there is a baby and I don’t know if we will ever see each other again or if we do if he will still want me even without a baby on the way, and..!" He was working himself up again and he hugged his middle, bending over to breathe again, "…I don’t know what to do… I thought if he really loved me he’d run away with me, but he refuses every time I ask him…I…have doubts he truly cares for me in the same way I do for him… I know he cares, but…" he bit his lip again and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

That swell of pity came back full-force, and Undertaker suddenly pictured himself boxing Eric Slingby’s ears and shaking him like a rag doll. “I’m fairly sure he wouldn’t have worked so hard to get you out of there if he didn’t care,” he offered, trying to give the younger man what comfort he could, “but running out on you in the morning makes me question the bloke’s common sense. Mayhap he didn’t have much choice to avoid unwanted attention, but…well…”

He really was awful at this sort of thing. Alan clearly wasn’t in the mood for jokes right now, and since mind-reading wasn’t on Undertaker’s list of talents, he couldn’t very well explain Slingby’s actions or assure this poor, smitten lad that his partner felt the same about him.

"This isn’t about Slingby," he decided at last. "Even if he’s half responsible for your situation, _he’s_ not the one that has to deal with it right now. If you want my advice, you’ll focus on _you_ and worry about him later. You’ve got a choice to make and plans to consider. Whether he ends up being a part of this or not isn’t your top priority right now, love.”

"I know but…that doesn’t mean I have to be okay with facing all this alone. And…you’re _sure_ I’m pregnant?”

"Wish I could tell you ‘no’, but I double-checked everything," sighed the older reaper. "There’s no doubt about it, chap. I’d say you’re maybe six weeks along, give or take a few days. Does that sound about right to you?"

Alan thought back, doing the math in his head, “Almost seven weeks ago was when Eric and I—did—you know—what caused this…” he raked his fingers through his hair and straitened up.

"Well, there you go. I don’t s’pose anyone else could be the culprit, eh?" Undertaker sincerely doubted Alan would have gotten with anyone else in the time since he’d been separated from his partner, but people were capable of all sorts of things when feeling hurt or rejected.

Alan shook his head, “That one time with Eric was my first and only,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing pink, “Eric…is the only one I ever wanted like that.”

"Well then, he’s definitely the father." Undertaker scratched his chin. "I can’t tell you what to do about it, lad, and I don’t know how likely your fellow is to step up and take responsibility, but I think your friends would do their part to help as much as they can. Seems you’ve got a fairly close-knit bunch. I imagine they’d drag him hog-tied to you if you asked them to."

"Too dangerous. We are all wanted men." Alan shook his head, knowing that he’d never ask for it even if he was in desperate need of Eric to be by his side.

Undertaker shrugged. “Just a thought. In the meantime, I’ll see about arranging some prenatal supplements for you so’s you can be sure you’re getting all the nutrients your body needs. Whatever y’ decide to do, it goes no further than this shop. Mum’s the word until you say otherwise.”

"Thank you." Alan looked down at his hands, "But…if you happen to see Eric…can you tell him to call me? I’d call him but his safe phones are normally turned off when I try."

"Can’t say as I have much contact with him or any other active duty Dispatch agents," said the mortician. Realizing that was a blatant lie after the encounter he’d recently had with Grell, he squirmed a little and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, not intentional, anyhow. Mayhap they’ll send him my way to try and ‘persuade’ me soon, though. If I happen to run into him, I’ll toss him a hint for you."

Alan nodded and took a deep breath, “I know. But you are here in London, where he is. You may pass by him sometime. I’ll try calling him but I know I likely won’t catch him.”

Ordinarily, Undertaker would be a bit miffed at someone trying to drag him into their business yet again, but he did feel for the boy, so he grudgingly nodded in agreement. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got some reading material you might want to take with you when you go back, as well. Keep it tucked away somewhere if you don’t want to raise questions, love. I’ll contact you in a couple days when I’ve got the other things you’ll need, and I s’pose you ought to start visiting me every few weeks so I can have a look at you, if you plan to keep it.”

Alan nodded, “Thank you. I’m sorry for dragging you into my…personal condition, but I didn’t know where else to go that would be safe.” He stood up, “Looks like I have a lot of thinking to do on what I want to do.”

Undertaker stood up as well. “Just wait here a moment.”

He left him to go into his study and retrieve the book on Shinigami reproduction for him. There were some rather notable differences between male and female pregnancy, aside from the more obvious ones. Alan was going to need to know these things, if he was going to go through with this. While he was at it, he grabbed some basic apothecary goods for him to try for his aches, pains and nausea. The mortician returned to the parlor after a few moments and he handed the book over to Humphries.

"There now. Tuck that away in your jacket and I’ll open the portal back to your current residency for you. No sense in you expending that sort of energy and making yourself feel worse, eh? Oh, and take this box with you, too. It’s got some herbal mixtures that might help manage your complaints ‘till we can get some proper prenatal items for you. Instructions are on the labels. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you not to exceed the listed doses, chap."

"Thank you again for all this, sir." Alan nodded. He slipped the pocket-sized book into his inner pocket of his jacket and took the box, tucking it under his arm. "I’ll let you know what I decide next time I come by."

Undertaker nodded and summoned the portal that would take Alan back to his latest temporary home. “Best of luck to you, Mr. Humphries.”

* * *

-To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

A few days later, Eric Slingby was working on updating his reports when he received a mystery note that scared the living hell out of him. The mail carrier came by with some drop-offs, and one of the envelopes had a seal with a skull on it. There was no return address and he could hardly read his own name on the spidery scrawl that barely passed for legible handwriting. He glanced up at the mail carrier as he left, and he waited until he was alone again to open the envelope.

"Wha’ tha hell does this say?" he muttered to himself, glaring at the handwriting in his effort to understand it. "Ta forms are slabbing?"

He scratched his head and read more slowly, and then it dawned on him as the scent of black opium wafted up his nostrils from the gray stationary whose handwriting it was. His heart almost stopped when he finally interpreted the simple, one-sentence message.

“ _The Thorns are stabbing._ ”

Eric swallowed, guessing that the ominous message could only mean one thing. “Oh gods…”

 

* * *

He finished his paperwork up in a rush and clocked out, and he didn’t even wait to get home to fish out the secure phone he kept in his glove compartment and dial his partner’s number. “Please let it be a mistake,” he whispered, pulling off in the movie theater parking lot. “Pick up, Alan…pick up…”

Alan reclined back in the bath, using an herbal soak that had been in his “care package” Undertaker had sent him off with to help ease away his cramps. It worked well and he was able to relax rather than curl up in a ball of pain. A floral scent waft up from the heated water, and the brunet closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the break —right when his phone started ringing.

Gasping and not wanting to miss the call, Alan turned and stretched to where his pants were laying on the nearby counter, pulling them down onto the floor and fishing his phone out. Flipping it open before he could look at the name on the front, he pressed it to his ear, “Eric?” he breathed.

"Alan, how bad is it?" demanded the Scotsman in a tense voice. "Did ya run out of medication? I coulda’ sworn I sent enough fer tha rest of tha month! Is it no’ doin’ its job anymore? Is there anyone ya can go to? Wha’ abou’ Undertaker? Did he help ya at all?"

He was too relieved to hear his voice and anxious to find out what was happening to stop rattling off his questions, until he was forced to take a breath to keep talking.

Alan blinked in surprise, “What are you talking about? Did you talk to the Undertaker? How…how much did he tell you?” he asked, sitting up straight in the tub, his gut twisting with nerves. Did Eric already know about the baby? Undertaker had said he wouldn’t tell anyone, but Alan had asked the man to try and get Eric to call him…

"I haven’t seen tha man lately," replied Eric, "but I got a note from him earlier at work. Said: _'The Thorns are stabbing'_. Now wha’ th’ hell’s goin’ on, Al? Have ye had ano’er bad attack?”

"No…not exactly…" Alan sighed, reclining back again against the back of the tub, the water swirling around him, "I’m sorry, I asked him to get you to call me if he could. I didn’t realize he’d do so in that way…"

Eric went silent for a moment, and then he spoke in a tone that was half relieved and half frustrated. “So yer’ a’right, then?”

"Sort of… I…well…" Alan took a deep breath, nerves washing over him again and making it hard to simply say what he needed to.

"Eric…that night at the motel…did you mean it?" he bit his lip and waited for the answer.

The Scotsman was too livid at the moment to comprehend the question, at first. He swore and growled, and he hit the dash of his car to vent his aggression. “Tha’ twisted auld troll! I nearly shit mah pants when I got tha’ message! I swear tae Lugh, I’m gonna—”

"No—do you love me, Eric?" Alan interrupted, raising his voice to grab his attention, "It’s important."

Eric was thrown off by the question for a second, but he was quick to recover. “Of _course_ I do, Alan. I wouldnae be doin’ all this if I didn’t! When I got tha’ note, I thought…”

He sighed and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “I’m jus’ glad yer okay. Has somthin’ else happened, though? Why tha hell would he send me somethin’ so morbid, o’erwise? He obviously wanted me tae call ye right away, tae give me a scare like tha’. Shite, I’m still shaking.”

"I’m sorry…I just…I need you, Eric…right now I need you here." Alan’s voice quivered, "If you love me…please."

Eric closed his eyes. “I…Alan…I’ll try tae speed things up an’ come to ya soon. Wha’s been happening lately? Is somethin’ wrong? I’ve been meaning tae call soon anyway but they’ve been keeping a pretty tight watch on me. Grell too. I think he might actually be in more danger than I am. They want him tae press Undertaker tae join the organization, an’ ye know how reckless Grell can get. They’re holdin’ somethin’ o’er his head an’ I’m tryin’ tae think of a way tae get us both out of here an’ still bring ye tha treatment for yer Thorns.”

"Eric—you know I hate being selfish but…I need you right now—I really do." He tried to keep the tremble from his voice, "I don’t care about the stupid treatment for Thorns. I care about you."

Eric swallowed hard. He couldn’t bear hearing Alan’s pleas any longer…and yet he couldn’t give in. He couldn’t give up on the chance to save him. “Alan, yer jus’ going tae have tae trust me. It’s a chance I cannae pass up, an’ I swear tae ye, I’ll be at yer side again as soon as I’ve done wha’ I’ve got tae do.”

"But I’m—!" Alan cut himself off and swallowed, Eric was always so stubborn when it came to things like this. He’d seen it before even before they had gotten together as more than work partners. There had been a previous cure the man had tried to get and even after Alan had thought he talked Eric out of it—Eric still went after it almost at the cost of both their lives…and it would have, if they hadn’t been found as quickly as they had by Ronald, Grell, and William. They both had faint scars from it as well. Would knowing about the baby really stop Eric, or would it only drive him deeper in trying to find the cure if he wanted to stay with him—if he wanted their baby. What if he didn’t want to be a father at all?

Tears rolled down his cheeks and plopped into his bath water as he hugged his knees to his chest. He couldn’t deny the facts. Knowing wouldn’t bring Eric back into his arms faster. If anything, it’d make Eric more desperate. He may start making mistakes…

"I…I love you, Eric. Please be careful, and I…I’m keeping it." he whispered before hanging up the phone and letting out the sobs that he’d been holding back.

* * *

 

"Alan?" Eric pulled the phone away from his ear when he realized he’d just been hung up on. "Keeping _wha’_? Wha’ tha hell’s goin’ on?”

Was he talking about something he’d given him? Maybe the stuffed rabbit? A photograph of them together? He couldn’t _possibly_ mean he was keeping the Thorns. He started to dial him back, but the motions of his fingers slowed and stopped. He sighed and blinked as his eyes burned, and he shook his head.

"He’s too upset wi’ me," he reasoned. "Maybe I misheard him, or maybe he’s jus’ so upset it was jus’ random babble."

Gods, his heart ached. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Alan’s time was already limited and every moment they spent apart was another moment they might not ever get back again. He had to work faster. Being chased all over the world while in his condition might just make the Thorns dig in faster.

"Alan," sighed the blond, laying his forehead on the steering wheel. Eric’s shoulders started to shake as he quietly wept.

 

* * *

Alan sobbed until he managed to calm himself down, the water growing colder as the minutes passed. But finally he stood up and climbed out of the tub, toweled himself dry, and dressed. He then shuffled out to where the rest of their group were gathered, discussing what their next move would be. They hadn’t agreed yet on whether they should try to fight back or try to find a more permanent safe place for themselves and others like them.

He cleared his throat to get their attention. He hadn’t yet told anyone about his condition but he knew they all knew something was going on with him more than his illness. But now was as good a time as any to let it out before they found out when he gained enough weight.

"I know you have been worried about me," he started, knowing full well that his eyes were still puffy and red from crying, "but I needed to sort some things out before I let everyone know."

"Are you okay, Senpai?" Ron asked, standing up from his spot at the table between William and Alex, "Is it the Thorns?"

All eyes were on the self-conscious brunet, and Alan closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I’m…carrying Eric Slingby’s child."

Will stood shocked, and he adjusted his glasses as he inhaled sharply. Clearing his throat, he calmly inquired: “Pregnant? Alan, are you sure?”

"Oooohhh," blurted Alexander, as if he’d just solved an equation. "That’s um…yeah. I…I’ve got nothing."

Alan nodded, “The Undertaker is sure that I am, and Eric is the only person I ever…” he trailed off, realizing how un-necessary it was to tell them that it was Eric’s child, “—Undertaker is sure that I am—pregnant.” he said again with some difficulty.

"Wait! But if you’re pregnant, that mean’s you had to have had sex!" Ron gasped dumbly. He didn’t know why, but he always pictured the brunet as this perfect pure thing–like an angel only better because he was a reaper.

"Hush Knox." Will glared at the blond, smacking him up the backside of his head. "Do not be so… never mind." Will waved his hand in dismissal and turned back to Alan. Slowly, he approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You have seen Undertaker and he was able to confirm it?"

Alexander stared at the blond—the only one in the group his age. “Seriously?” He whispered. “Did you _really_ just say that?”

"Ow—Will-senpai!" Ron rubbed the back of his head. "Oh come on, Salty, you gotta admit Alan-senpai is the last guy to hop in bed with a guy like Eric-senpai! Or anyone really, but especially a player like Eric!"

"I told you the other day I was going to speak with Undertaker," explained Alan. "He tested me then and found out my condition…and…the timing is right…and the symptoms are right…but that’s not all…The pregnancy…somehow stopped my Thorns, for now."

Will blinked in surprise and looked over his shoulder at the others before turning back to Alan. “How? But…thorns. They are incurable. He was able to confirm this also?”

"I don’t know, it seems impossible, I know, but that’s what he told me right before he told me I was carrying a baby." Alan said, trying not to let the way Ronald had called Eric a ‘player’ bother him.

Jeffries blew his auburn bangs out of his eyes and reclined a bit in the ratty chair he was sitting in. “Weeell…I know it’s a fubar situation, but isn’t it kind of a good thing this happened, then? Pregnancy is less likely to kill you than Thorns.”

Will’s eyes narrowed on Alex. “Mister Jeffries, do keep your mouth shut. Now is not the time for it to be running away from you.”

Placing his hand on Alan’s back, Will ushered him to one of the chairs near the fire. “Alright. Come sit down. You have been quite sick as of late and probably should not remain standing. We will figure out what to do. Have you spoken with Mister Slingby about this yet?”

"…Kinda—not really." Alan sighed, "He called me while I was in the bath and I started to…but he still refuses to leave…and if he knew…what if he gets more desperate to finish what he’s doing over there and makes mistakes? What if they catch him and _kill_ him because of those mistakes?” Alan shook his head. “I couldn’t tell him…not straight out, anyway. I…told him I’m keeping it, though. And I know that it’ll be a burden later with me heavily pregnant and then with a baby on my hip after that when we are on the run like we are, but…I want to keep it.”

"How did this even happen?" Ronald sighed, walking over to look at Alan again.

"I believe as you stated before, young Knox, he had sex." said one of the other members of their group who had thus-far remained silent.

"Well, yeah, but damn! Ever hear of using a condom?" Ron countered.

Alan sank in his seat, his cheeks bright red as he wished he could go invisible to his fellow reapers.

"Uh, well it was your first time, from what you said," Alex pointed out, feeling a little bad for how crudely he’d tried to point out the silver lining earlier, "and…you guys were in a weird situation. If anything, Slingby should have known better."

He noticed one of the older reapers in their group eyeing him—the one with the flaxen blond ponytail that had come with them from Denmark—and he suddenly felt the urge to toss some salt over his shoulder…but seeing as there were people behind him, he stopped himself. He didn’t need to give anyone else a sodium facial.

Alan hid his face, “I don’t want to talk about how it happened or why. It’s private and…it just happened and now there is a baby.” He flushed.

"Nor should you. That is a private affair, an affair between the two of you." Will replied as knelt down next to the brunet and looked up at him. "And of course you can keep it. We will do our best to see to your safety and the child. You have our word, Mister Humphries…Alan. It will be little of consequence."

"Thank you." Alan rubbed his eyes and looked up at William, "I promise I’ll continue to help where I can and when I can."

"I am sure you will. Do not worry yourself. We will do our best to make sure you are comfortable, as well. Do not push yourself, overly. We will manage where you are not able." Will forced a smile on his face as patted the smaller reaper’s shoulder, unsure of what else to say or do.

 

* * *

Once Eric pulled himself together, he went to the Undertaker’s shop and he stormed in with an angry expression on his face. “Undertaker! It’s Slingby of Dispatch! Come out o’ yer tomb, auld fart…I’ve go’ a bone tae pick wi’ ya!”

The mortician heard the Scotsman’s outraged demands from down in his basement, where he was working on another dollie. He smirked down at the yet to be awakened subject, unsurprised to get such an aggressive visit from the man.

"Well, that didn’t take long," mused the ancient. He could easily guess what this was about, and he regretted nothing. If they were going to be asking him to get involved in the game, they’d just have to get used to his way of playing. "I shouldn’t be long, dear. We’ll get you all fixed up and ready to join your brothers and sisters, as soon as I deal with an irate Scot."

Undertaker patted the female cadaver’s cold hand, and he exited the laboratory to address Eric before the man’s yells attracted attention from passers-by on the streets outside. He went up the stairs and unlocked the door leading into his shop, poking his head around it with a grin.

"Evenin’, chap. Why so irate?" The silver reaper stepped through and shut the door behind him. "You can stop your caterwauling now."

Eric advanced on the older man, anger plain on his face. “Wha’ sort o’ sick game are ye playing?” he demanded, “sending me a note like tha’! I thought Alan was dead ‘r dyin’!”

The mortician didn’t flinch. He spread his hands and shrugged, silver bangs listing to the side as he tilted his head with a white grin. “Got your attention, didn’t it? Your li’l partner had a pressing need to contact you and I couldn’t very well stroll through Dispatch headquarters and tell you outright to ring him up, could I?”

At the end of his rope, Eric started to lay hands on the Undertaker, intending to shove him against the wall and give him something to think about. He never got close. Before he could lay so much as a finger on him, Undertaker kicked out with a leather-booted foot and Eric gagged as the pointed heel drove into his solar plexus. He found himself flying backwards through the shop, to land with a crash against a display skeleton suspended from a support stand.

He went down in a heap, dazed and disoriented, as the Undertaker advanced on him like a dark cloud. He tried to fend him off as the mortician reached down, grabbed him roughly by his uniform jacket and dragged him to his feet like a rag doll. A back-handed slap was administered across his face, hard enough to make him see stars and bloody his lip when the emerald ring on the mortician’s finger cut into it.

"Now you listen to me, you brutish lout," snapped the ancient in a deep, resonant voice, shaking him like a nanny, "You don’t come into ol’ Undertaker’s shop like some thug mongrel and try to push him ‘round, yeah? Only reason you’ve got an invitation to set foot on my threshold at all is ‘cause of the li’l chap that fancies you so much."

Eric was stunned. He’d never been manhandled so easily before…not even as a child. And a child was what he felt like now, helpless in the grip of some bogeyman. “G-get yer hands off me,” he managed to grit out, pulling at the mortician’s wrists.

"Happily."

Undertaker released him at once, and Eric fell to the floor again.

_~Looks like I pissed off grandpa,~_ thought the stunned blond. It was so easy to forget that this man was no ordinary reaper retiree. He was one of the first, and he evidently had a lot more at his disposal than trickery and zombies. Eric was a strong reaper…physically stronger than most—but Undertaker had smacked him around with ease. He was stronger and faster than Eric could have expected, and the fact that he didn’t flaunt such power made him even more dangerous. His hat hadn’t even come off during the brief fracas.

_~An’ they want Grell tae deal wi’ this man on his own.~_

Swallowing his wounded pride, Eric got to his feet painfully and he stood watching the mortician with a new wariness—and respect. “There were o’er ways ya could have let me know.”

"And miss the opportunity to make you squirm?" The mortician grinned. "I wouldn’t think of it, chap. Now, if you’re finished with your tantrum, let’s have a chat. Have some tea?"

Eric wobbled over to a coffin lying on the floor and he sat down on it. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

After that display of abrupt aggression, he feared any beverage Undertaker served him might be laced with poison.

"Suit yourself." Undertaker shrugged and hopped up on his desk, crossing his legs beneath his robes. "And what did young Humphries say to you, when you got off your bum to call him?"

"Dunno why yer so curious, but it was jus’ tha usual…after we cleared up tha misunderstanding ye caused."

The mortician tilted his head. “The usual?”

Eric didn’t want to tell this unpredictable reaper too much; he still wasn’t sure how neutral he really was…though he was starting to suspect he was leaning more toward the rebel side. He’d helped them all escape London, after all. “Aye, the usual. He tried tae get me tae leave an’ join up wi’ him, like always.”

"And why don’t you?"

Eric compressed his lips and looked away. “I’ve still go’ things I have tae do…things tha’ might make tha difference between life and death.”

Beneath the concealing fringe of his bangs, Undertaker rolled his eyes. “You young folk…always so convinced your every action is going to have a massive impact on the world around you. Delusions of grandeur aside, Mr. Slingby, it takes more than a ripple to cause a tidal wave. Right now you’re all just tiny fish in a grand sea of sharks.”

"So I’ve noticed," muttered Eric. He licked the spot of blood from his lip. "But I dun’ care ‘bout tha world, sir. Jus’ one reaper in it."

"Hmph. And what if that reaper you claim to care so much about needs you more than you need to keep up this farce, right now?"

"Ye dun’ understand, an’ I cannae explain it," insisted Eric, feeling a fresh throb of guilt and longing. "An’ why are ya so invested in mah personal business wi’ Alan, anyhow? He’s no kin of yers…far as I know."

Undertaker chuckled. “No…he has no relation to me at all. I’ve never perpetuated my bloodline, you see. Still, I rather like the li’l fellow and I’m a bit of a pussycat when it comes to young people in a bind. Probably the only reason I helped your former associates at all.”

Eric nearly smirked at Undertaker referring to himself as a “pussycat”. Grell had said the same thing about him, but he was having trouble seeing it. “An’ yer no’ worried I’ll tell Dispatch ya helped ‘em?” What was this crazy old Shinigami up to?

"Not a bit," replied the ancient, "because if you do that, you’ll be dobbing in your partner and all of your friends with him. Even if they offer to hand over whatever it is they’re dangling over your head in exchange for an excuse to try and come after me, you’d still be stabbing yourself in the foot."

Eric couldn’t argue with that logic. Undertaker seemed completely un-intimidated by Dispatch. “Have ya seen him?” he asked softly. Alan had to have gotten in touch with the old man recently, to have implored his help. Whether that was via phone or in person, he couldn’t guess.

The mortician nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Eric met his eyes—or as close to it as he could with that pale fringe covering them. “How is he? Does he look a’right…all things considered?”

Undertaker tapped his nails on the surface of his desk. “My, my…you’re just as smitten as _he_ is, aren’t you? Yes, Mr. Slingby, he seems in relatively good health. Just a bit heartsick for obvious reasons and worrying his knickers off about you.”

Eric smirked a little, and he reached into the pocket of his blazer. Standing up, he approached the mortician with decidedly more caution than before. “If ya see him again, would ya give him this for me?”

He held out a small box. Inside of the box was a small frame with a compressed, preserved Erica flower blossom in it. He’d intended to send it with his next care package, but in light of his last conversation with Alan, he thought he deserved the small gift sooner.

Undertaker took the box and he nodded. “I’ll be sure and pass it along, if he stops by again.”

"Thanks."

Eric had nothing left to say, so he took his leave and portaled back to the other side where his car waited for him on the side of a low traffic road. He got in and started it up, but before he put it into gear to drive home, he pulled out his work phone and went through the pictures he’d taken on it. He found the one of him and Alan at the last company holiday party they’d attended, and a small, wistful smile curved his lips. Alan looked so cute in his little green elf hat, with the synthetic pointy ears peeking through his brown locks. Eric himself looked like a big dork, wearing a pair of felt antlers and a flashing tie with candy canes all over it. They were happy in the photo, leaning close together with one arm around each other.

He sighed and put his phone away. “Happy” was a place he wondered if they’d ever see again together.

 

* * *

Ronald rolled off his cot, dragging his blanket with him as he stood up with a yawn. His blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. He’d tried to get to sleep, he wanted to sleep, but it wouldn’t come no matter how comfortable he’d made himself. Even stealing William’s pillow didn’t help. The man himself was on guard duty that night for the first shift, and was up on the roof keeping an eye out for any reapers who may put their group in danger if they discovered them. So far there had been no incidents, but they couldn’t be too careful.

Yawning again, the blond shuffled up the latter to the roof and walked up behind William, flopping down beside him without a word and curling up, his head in William’s lap as the man was sitting on a bench they had placed up there for some comfort during the long nights.

"…Can’t sleep…" He muttered after a moment’s silence.

Will looked down into his lap, surprised to find the blond plopping his head there without asking, but Will could not find it in his heart to scold. It was late and the air was chilly. He had been alone for a couple of hours and the company would be nice, even if the blond fell asleep. His body alone next to him was warmth and it was welcoming to William.

"Why is that, Ronald? Does your mind not want to let you?" he asked curiously as he gazed out over the countryside ahead of him.

"Kinda…" Ron sighed, "I’ve not gone this long being stuck inside before." he glanced up at William, "I’m used to being able to go out most nights on dates or to the pub or a party someplace. But now I’m stuck inside for quiet evening after quiet evening."

William half-smiled “I see. You are not used to the comfortable life. Have you tried reading a good book? They tend to help on long nights, when cooped up. They can also ease you into sleep as they exercise your eyes and stimulate your brain.”

"But it’s boring!" Ron sighed, "Who wants to sit still and read when they could be having fun and wasting all their extra energy with dancing, drinking, and good conversation? Kill the energy and you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. Works wonders!"

"Boring? I rather enjoy reading, Ronald. It is good for the brain. It helps to keep you educated and intelligent. Drinking wastes away cells inside your brain. Though as reapers, that is not always the case. If you are able to repair brain cells rather quickly. And now, I have stepped away from the point. " William sighed also and adjusted his glasses, then looked back down at the blond. "Have you ever at least given reading a chance?"

"Does childhood count?" Ronald chuckled, "I had tutors on my back about it since I was five. Father practically made me live in the family library. I had to sneak out in order to see other kids my age, and let me tell you, being the rich kid sucks. Doesn’t matter much any more, though. Father cut me off when I chose to join Dispatch rather than take over the family business."

William glanced down at the boy and raised a brow imperialistically at him. “So you were raised a snob. Joyful. I was not so fortunate. I would not be where I am at today, had I not studied hard and worked for everything I have achieved. Not all of us are fortunate, Mister Knox.”

"Didn’t I just say it’s not easy being the rich kid? I was never taught what I needed to join Dispatch. I’ll have you know that when I left home to join the academy I had to take extra classes to catch up to everyone who had been studying to join Dispatch since they were old enough. I worked hard to prove myself good enough to apply for the final exams. Money had nothing to do with it. I can study my butt off, too, if it gets me what I want. I earned this just as much as you did!" Ron snapped, sitting up. "This was my choice. I chose to work hard rather than sit comfy on my family’s money. I wanted to get out and experience life. I wanted to see what the mortal realm was like. I wanted to be Ronald Knox and not be a clone of Randell Knox the fourth."

"And yet you waste the effort by romping around each night, instead of appreciating the achievements you have made, by getting drunk. Forgive me Ronald, but I don’t see your reasoning here. I see someone who claims to have worked so hard to get where they are and yet they show nothing for it." Will snapped back irritably.

"I still work hard!" Ron insisted, "All day I work hard. To get my work done on time and to impress _you_. So what’s wrong with wanting to spend my free time having fun?”

Will softened his expression. Had he heard correctly? The boy worked hard to impress, him? “Ronald…you shouldn’t be trying to impress me. You should be working hard for yourself. So you can be proud and be secure. I would be more impressed if you did it for yourself.” He looked down at his watch and then back up at the blond. “Fun is good in appropriate doses. To much is waste.”

"Why are you so surprised?" Ron asked, shifting his blanket tighter around himself, "You already know how I feel about you on a personal level—professionally…I look up to you. Like how you look up to that crazy old Undertaker."

Looking away, Will tried to hide the flush in his cheeks. He could only hope that if Ron noticed the pinking in his cheeks, he would blame it on the chill night air. His admiration was more than that for the Undertaker, but now that the blond had stepped in, he wondered if he ever had any true feelings for the mortician. Perhaps just a school boy crush. The man was a legend after all. A mentor.

"You are correct; I do look up to the Undertaker. He is a legend. He has been a mentor and there to seek guidance from at times. Nothing more."

"And you have been that for me," Ron pressed.

"Is that so?" Will remarked as he lifted his eyes to the Heavens for a moment, taking in the grandeur of the stars scattered across the midnight sky. Slowly, he lowered his gaze and fixed it on Ronald’s profile. "I do care. If I did not, I would not be so hard on the lot of you. My job has never been an easy one. Responsibility is a challenge. I must be tough and for that, I often times must endure the stigma of being cold and uncaring."

"Often…but not always." Ronald shrugged, "I can’t speak for everyone, but…when you praise me for a good job…it means so much more than your lectures."

"I apologize if I have been to brash over the years. It just becomes rather ill considered to me, if I see the reapers under my charge, slacking on the job. Our work is too dire, too important and dangerous. We must always be prepared." Will replied. Tired, he let his head droop in defeat. "What does it matter now? Our home is lost to us. We no longer have a purpose."

"No," Ronald shook his head, "we don’t have a _job_. That’s what we lost. Our jobs and homes. We’re still here. Why don’t we make a new purpose? Why don’t we fight back and take back our homes?”

Will turned his head to the side and looked at Ronald. He couldn’t imagine how in the world they would pull of such a feat. Their numbers were small, at best. There was no telling what was going on in the realm of their home. At present time, hope was fleeting and all they could do to survive was run when the time came.

"And how do you propose we fight back, Mister Knox?"

"However we can." Ronald shrugged, "If we have to set loose a million mice in the dispatch building, then that’s what we’ll do."

Not able to contain himself, Will began to chuckle. The image of them all sneaking into Dispatch and setting loose hundreds of mice was priceless, though ridiculous.

"Wouldn’t that be a sight to behold? In some way, I almost would like to see that. Fight a grand number of reapers with mice. I dare say, I find that quiet humorous."

Ronald smiled wide, looking up at William, “Then we’ll do it.” he chuckled and reached over to take Will’s hand, “I like it when you laugh, Will.”

Sobering a bit, Will smiled, but looked back out over the countryside. “How long do you think we have here, ‘till they discover us? I quite like it here. I shall regret the day we are forced to move again. And now with Humphries, pregnant, it is going to make things more complicated.”

"Well, it’s hard to say, really. But…I’m sure we are safe for the next ten minutes or so…you know, if you are interested in a little taste of fun." Ronald winked with a smile, giving the man a little nudge.

Will smiled back and replied. “That may be, but I am still on duty, Ronald.”

"Yes, but when you aren’t on guard duty you use the excuse that people are around and that kissing is for private. What’s ten minutes when we finally are not around the others? Unless you’re avoiding me—in which case, just tell me and I’ll back off. I’m not Grell-senpai."

"I have never accused you of being so." Will sighed. "Ronald, I do want to touch you and hold you…and even kiss you. I just feel that affection is private. It should not be displayed before the others."

He reached over and placed his hand on the back of the blond’s neck, pulling him forward so that their foreheads were braced against one another. Softly, Will spoke. “Do I not do these things when we are alone at night…in our room?”

"When are we ever alone in our room?" Ron asked, "You always take the first night watch up here. And it’s not like I’m asking for sex. That really _is_ private. But this—” he leaned in, pressing a kiss firmly to Will’s lips, “—is just a kiss.”

William impulsively returned the kiss, and one arm went around the younger reaper’s waist to pull him closer. His pulse quickened annoyingly in response to the soft press of Ronald’s lips against his own, and he wondered how the boy managed to do such a thing to him, so easily. He’d felt the stirrings of desire for Undertaker, and he’d only begun to come to terms with that. What he felt for the mortician was more a crush brought on by slight hero worship, though. What he’d begun feeling for Ronald was more…real, more solid. He dared say it was even more enduring.

Undertaker was about as close to his reach as the moon. Ronald was right here in his arms, and it felt…good. “You’re in danger of turning me into one of those slackers I so dislike,” said the brunet with a subtle smirk, forcing himself to pull away. He honestly would have been happy to keep kissing him, but he could indulge in that when his shift was over with.

"Well, if you start to despise yourself for slacking, then I’ll pick up the slack and love you all the—shit, now I’m talking all cheesy school-boy. What kind of line was I saying?" the blond groaned, scolding himself as he ran a hand through his feathered blond locks that were starting to need a trim. "Forget I said that!"

William blinked. Had Knox just…did he just say that he _loved_ him? Unwillingly, the former supervisor started to smile, and he pressed a finger against his lips to control them. “Interesting.” He reached out to run gloved fingers though Ronald’s soft, feathered hair. “I don’t believe anyone has ever said the thing you wish me to forget, before.”

Not even his own parents. It made him feel peculiar inside, to hear this young man declare such feelings for him—even if he’d done it by accident. Sadly, William had no idea how to express reciprocation to him. To say that he cared deeply for him felt like a lame response. There had already been enough hurt feelings and arguments between them, so William opted to express himself with another kiss, instead.

"What? I would have thought that Grell would have used cheesy—ah?" Ronald blinked as his statement was cut short by the feel of soft lips brushing up against his before pressing firmly against them.  
  
Ron smirked and closed his eyes, reaching up to thread his fingers into William’s dark locks as he returned the kiss.  
  
“Maybe you’re past the point of no return on being a slacker.” he teased against his lips.

"You are a terrible influence on me," countered William between kisses. His hands slid down Ronald’s back of their own accord and try though he might, he couldn’t stop the arousal that was taking hold of him.

"Well, look on the bright side—maybe some of your work ethic will rub off on me in exchange…best try _rubbing_ it off on me more before you go full slacker.” Ronald smirked playfully, pulling William down onto him as he lay back on the bench.

Taken off guard by the move, William resisted at first. Ronald’s kisses were addictive, though, and before he knew it, he was lying full-length on top of him and stroking the inside of his mouth with his tongue. He swelled in his pants and he unconsciously rubbed against him, inadvertently going along with his pun. Now really wasn’t the time for them to get this heated…certainly not out in public. His body wouldn’t comply with his mind’s caution, however.

"Ronald," he breathed, his lips moving from the blond’s lips to his neck. He was due to be relieved from watch duty soon. Perhaps it was time to—

"Uh, Mister Spears?"

William immediately jumped off of Ronald and stood up, his face blushing scarlet as he turned to face Alexander Jeffries. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, doing his best to recall a stoic, calm expression onto his features. “What is it, Jeffries?”

_~Heavens, how humiliating.~_

"I was just coming to relieve you from your post," explained Alex, looking just as uncomfortable as Will felt. He tugged his cap down lower on his auburn head, pressing the long-ish bangs further down over his eyes. "I could um…come back in a minute if you like."

William shook his head. “No, that will do.” William straightened his tie and glanced back at Ronald, whose comely features were also flushed—though he suspected it was more due to passion than embarrassment, for him. Knox did not seem to shame easily. “Please excuse me. I believe I’ll go and clean up before having my dinner. Good evening, gentlemen.”

He walked away with as much dignity as he could muster, wishing he could cool the heat in his face through sheer will alone. Alex watched him go for a moment, then turned to Ronnie with a shrug. “Sorry to barge in on you like that, man.”

Seeing his boss making out with the blond he used to so often snap at had been quite an eye-opening experience, and Alex tried his best not to grin. So, _that_ was why Knox always got so defensive around him when he talked to Spears. He wouldn’t have guessed, if he hadn’t just seen it with his own eyes.

"Dammit, Jeffries…" Ronald stood up and pulled his blanket around his shoulders again, "Next time just back up slowly and don’t announce your presence. Will’s jumpy…"

Alex shrugged. “Hey, I _said_ I was sorry. I didn’t expect to find him snogging someone out here.”

"Hoping to have him alone yourself?" Ron asked, crossing his arms.

That confirmed Jeffries’ suspicions, and he smiled benignly. “He’s not my type, Knox. Too uptight and proper for me. Besides, I don’t date.” He shrugged and looked out at the landscape. “People are too confusing. I don’t know how to interact with them most of the time, and usually when I try I say something wrong…so I just don’t even try anymore. You’ve got nothing to worry about from my end.”

"Coulda fooled me with how you keep dragging him away when I try to help him with something." Ron shrugged, not entirely convinced. He walked past Alex to go back inside to see if William had been turned off by being caught or if he could tempt the man back into a nice snogging session.

Alex watched him go with a little sigh. He’d done it again. How did he always manage to stuff up even the most basic attempts at conversation? He could have told Ronald that he had impulse issues and he often didn’t think before acting. He could have told him that if he were attracted to William, he’d be too afraid to touch the man…let alone drag him off. He hadn’t even been consciously aware of what he was doing that time, thinking his actions were harmless. Evidently, he’d been wrong about that.

 

* * *

William stepped out of the shower and dried off, before putting on his bathrobe and towel-drying his hair. He ran into Ronald in the hallway just as he was leaving the bathroom, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t think of anything to say in greeting, so he gave him a nod.

"Are you going to be alright?" Ron asked, unable to stop his gaze from sweeping over William’s exposed chest under his robe, a few water droplets still clinging to his skin, "I didn’t mean for us to get caught like that."

"I could have easily put a stop to it," sighed William, taking his part of the blame stoically. "I was participating as much as you were. There is no point in dwelling on it. What’s done is done."

He regarded Ronald quietly for a moment, and then he pulled him closer by the arm. “I think I should like to resume where we left off, after I have something to eat. In the privacy of our room, of course.”

It took a lot for him to say that. He’d been holding back so much, wary of getting too deeply involved when the future was so uncertain. It was too late to go back now, though. Wherever this was going, it kept getting stronger and he doubted he could stop it—even if he wanted to. He didn’t know if he was ready to bed Ronald just yet; particularly when one of their associates found himself pregnant after such an encounter. Even protection wasn’t completely foolproof, and they would have to use caution to be sure they didn’t wind up in a similar situation. Nothing said he and Ronald couldn’t explore a bit more, though.

"Let’s get you some food, then." Ron grinned, relieved that being caught didn’t hurt his chances at something more with the recipient of his affections. "And a special dessert in private." he offered his arm as a gentleman would a lady, grinning happily at the older male. A bit awkwardly, William took it and walked with him to the kitchen, trying to ignore the interested looks they got from their fellow exiles as they passed by them.

_~Let them stare all they like,~_ he decided. _~Other couples in our group don’t hide their relationship, so why should we?~_

Besides, he was no longer Ronald’s boss and there was no board to frown upon him dating the younger reaper.

"What d’ya want? We have left over chicken and beans…looks like we also have only one ear of corn left as well." Ron said, opening the icebox they had been fortunate enough to get when they moved to this location. Most of their group had already eaten dinner and there wasn’t much left over.

"I think the chicken will be fine," answered William. He wasn’t terribly hungry, but he couldn’t neglect his body’s basic needs for nourishment and risk weakening. They all had to remain in top condition if at all possible, prepared to flee or fight should Dispatch close in on them again. With Jeffries monitoring the database whenever possible and guards posted at all hours of the day, he hoped that any advance on them would be spotted long before the enemy could get to them.

"Right, here." Ron pulled out the plate of chicken and put it on the counter while he grabbed a clean plate from the dish rack, "You eat—I’ll be warming up your cot for you." Ron smirked, handing it over and winking before walking back out and heading down the hall.

* * *

 

William ate rather quickly after Ronald left, the promise of further kisses and perhaps more making him rather impatient to finish. He cleaned up his plate and silverware before going to his room. Ronald was there on his sleeping cot as promised, relaxing on his back with his fingers threaded behind his head. William closed and locked the door, and as he approached the cot, he became very aware of his own nudity beneath his bathrobe.

Swallowing his uncertainty, he eased down onto the cot, one knee pressing between Ronald’s thighs as he covered his body with his. There was probably enough room for them to lie side by side if they wanted to, though it would be tight. He was more interested in the intimacy of lying on top of him for now, though. He gazed down at him for a moment before removing his glasses and putting them on the shelf overhead, before doing the same for Ronald.

"Well then, here we are," he murmured, somewhat nervous. He swallowed when Ron’s leg brushed against his groin and he hoped the material wouldn’t part and reveal the state he was getting into.

"Here we are," Ronald agreed, grinning up at him and moving his hands out from behind his head to run them up along Will’s arms. As he shifted, he became all too aware of William’s arousal and he had the decency to blush.

   
“Uh…you can take a moment to get your pajamas on if you want…I want to do things right with you and not rush it and…you’re kinda tempting right now.”

Feeling foolish, William nodded in accord and got up, holding his robe more tightly closed so as not to inadvertently flash anything at Ronald. “I think that would be a wise decision.”

The more layers there were between them, the better off they both probably were. He did not want to rush anything, either. He certainly didn’t want to let his urges get the better of him and end up having an accident like Slingby and Humphries. He retrieved some clean pajamas from the little dresser and he went behind the privacy screen to change.

"I still cannot believe Slingby would be so careless with his partner," he said as he disrobed and slipped into the royal blue pajama bottoms. He mentioned it not to gossip, but just for something to say to break the silence. "The man should have known better than to risk putting Humphries in such a situation."

He emerged from behind the screen again once he slipped into the matching pajama top, and he joined Ronald on the cot once again—this time lying on his side and pillowing his head on his arm. He put one arm around the blond and held him…gingerly at first, and then with more confidence when Ronnie snuggled up to him.

"I’m shocked, too. Eric’s usually better than me at remembering to grab a condom." Ronald frowned, "And…I admit, it kinda spooked me when Alan said he was pregnant…I really, _really_ am not wanting to be a parent any time soon. And so in a way… it’s like those two cursed the idea of sex for a while.” he admitted, slipping his arms around William after pulling the blanket over the both of them.

"Better to abstain than to take un-necessary risks," agreed the brunet with a sigh. He rubbed Ronald’s back, enjoying the contact. "Particularly now. I certainly hope the other couples in our group have enough sense to practice safe sex. Life on the run is one of the least ideal settings I can imagine to start a family."

He dared to press a kiss against Ronald’s lips, before murmuring: “You needn’t fear any untoward pressure from me, Ronald Knox. It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with anyone that I hardly recall what I’m missing, anyway.”

He ran his hand down the blond’s back, tracing his spine in a sensual glide. “For now, this is enough.”

"Sadly, I do know what I’m missing… or, on some level I do. Don’t know how good you are in the sack." Ron chuckled, sliding his hand down to give Will’s rear a quick squeeze, "But I can assume you’re better than my hand."

Though he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with talk like this, William tried to play along and flirt back. “I look forward to rising to the challenge, eventually.”

He was already figuratively “rising to the challenge” beneath the sheets, and there was little he could do about that. At least he got confirmation that Ronald was approaching a similar state, when his hip pressed against the blond’s groin.

"Once the fear of babies passes and we feel ready to try, at least. I do look forward to it, though!" The blond pressed a kiss to the underside of William’s jaw and snuggled closer, "I’m happy like this, though." he sighed with a smile, "I never imagined us actually being this close. Only dreamed it."  
  
Ronald laughed out loud then, “Worst part of dreaming that was when it was at work and you catch me sleeping on the job and your lecture leaks into the dream!”

William smirked. “I promise never to lecture you while making love—unless you do something particularly unpleasant that I cannot abide.”

He couldn’t imagine Ronald being the type to be into “golden showers” or scat play though, so he highly doubted it would ever come to that. He kissed his forehead and closed his eyes, content to go to sleep in his arms like this. How odd that they’d started off so volatile and now shared a bed together—or rather, a cot. They still had their moments of misunderstandings because their personalities were so very different, but Will believed there was enough chemistry between them to make up for that.

"Goodnight, Ronald," he sighed, yawning sleepily.

* * *

-To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

 

Heels clicked loudly upon the wet cobblestone lining the streets outside Undertaker’s shop, pacing back and forth repeatedly to create a pattern. Five steps to the left, a scruff as he turned, five steps to the right, another scruff, five steps…  
  
Grell was pacing nervously—he never paced nervously. He was always so confident in everything he did, even when he knew he’d fail. It simply wasn’t in his nature to be hesitant. Yet here he was, outside Undertaker’s shop and avoiding the actual act of entering.  
  
But this wasn’t supposed to happen. It shouldn’t have happened, yet, he couldn’t deny that it did. Dispatch didn’t even know he was here this time. Or, they hadn’t ordered it. They were watching the creepy little shop, so chances were that he’d been spotted wearing a trench into the street. Not that it mattered. He was still under orders to recruit the legendary reaper at any costs. He could get away with the idea he was trying a new approach. Really, he thought they would have given up months ago.  
  
Grell shivered and moved his hands from where they were wringing each other in front of him to rubbing his arms, warding away the cold chill of early November. Water droplets dripped down off the battered old sign Undertaker had tacked up over his shop front from the rain that day, and Grell began to wish he’d brought a warmer coat rather than his signature red coat he’d taken off his partner in crime’s dead body.  
  
What a coward he was turning out to be. Staying outside for well over an hour rather than go right on in and demanding to speak with the handsome retired reaper.

 

* * *

Undertaker stepped out of his coffin with a yawn, and he wandered over to the clock and squinted at it to check the time. Six thirty-two at night. He’d slept in a bit, but the early November weather made him want to snuggle in his coffin a bit longer than usual. Cold weather had that affect on him, and the only thing better than bundling up was to do it with a companion to cuddle. Pity Miss Sutcliff didn’t come ‘round more often and stay the night. More than an acquaintance but not quite an official lover, he and Grell had enjoyed quite a few romps since that first, spontaneous encounter in his shop.

He grinned at the thought, and he considered ringing the crimson reaper up to see if he’d be interested in coming over for a nightcap—and with any luck, staying overnight for snuggles…and maybe more. He _did_ have a perfectly serviceable, nice big bed in the master bedroom, after all. They’d broken it in a couple of times already, too.

He started to walk over to his desk to reach for the phone when a flash of crimson caught his eye, just outside the shop. He walked up to the window and peeked out, unable to tell if it was just some color from a pedestrian walking by or the subject of his thoughts. His grin took to his ears when he recognized Grell.

"Well, I’ll be a slappy chappy…"

Usually his ravens warned him whenever a Dispatch agent was approaching his property, but they’d grown so used to Grell that so long as he wasn’t doing anything overtly nefarious, they rarely informed their master when they saw him coming.

Rather happy to see him and tickled at the irony, Undertaker grabbed his hat from the rack, popped it on and unlocked the door. “Hi hi, lovely,” he greeted with a huge smile. “Come to offer up another bit of incentive for ol’ Undertaker, have you?”

Having not expected the possibility of being caught by the old reaper, though he knew he should have suspected that it would happen, Grell stiffened, frozen mid-stride as he turned his head, his wide eyes locking on the pajama-clad figure in the open door.  
  
Undertaker stood relaxed, a happy smile on his face under his tangled silver hair. His pajamas were a warm black flannel decorated with various sizes of pink skulls. They were humorous, but suited the man in more than one way.  
  
Caught, Grell knew there was no use avoiding going inside to talk to Undertaker—probably over a late –very late—breakfast. He had skipped eating himself that morning. With a sigh, Grell turned and rushed to the silver reaper, throwing his arms around his shoulders, “Unnie!” He leaned in, his lips brushing over Undertaker’s earlobe, “We need to talk.”

Delighted by the embrace, the mortician chuckled and backed up with him, locking his arms around Grell’s waste to drag him inside. “Do tell, m’dear. My, you’re shivering.”

He reached out to close the door behind them, and he locked it before scooping Grell up without warning, bride style. “I’ll get you a nice blanket and get a fire going in the hearth,” he offered as he began to carry the redhead through the shop, toward the door in the back of it. He already had it open a crack, seeing as he wasn’t open for business yet, so he nudged it the rest of the way open and brought Grell into the parlor. He set him down on the couch and he kissed the tip of his nose playfully.

"I’ll be back directly, love," he promised. "Just getting you a blanket and putting the kettle on, and then we can stoke up a fire and talk."

Grell nodded and sighed. Maybe he was over-thinking everything. Slipping his arms out of his red coat, he draped it over the back of the couch and leaned back against it, pulling his feet up so that he could hug his knees to his chest and rest his chin on them.  
  
“It’s too risky.” he sighed, unsure if Undertaker could hear him in the other room, “The price to stay is too great now. I can’t stay where I am with them.”

Undertaker came back out of the hallway with a folded, thick black blanket in his arms and he shook it out to drape it over Grell’s shoulders. “Did you say something darlin’?”

He tucked the blanket around Grell and he took a moment to admire him, before walking over to the hearth to start up a fire.

"I need out of Dispatch." Grell nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, "Everything has changed."

Unseen by Grell, Undertaker’s expression changed slightly. As the glow of the flames he’d started illuminated his pale features, his smile faltered just a bit. It came back as he looked back over his shoulder at his guest. “But you’ve already known that for a long time, love. What brought about this sudden change of heart?”

"No, it’s not how Dispatch changed—it’s my position in all this." Grell sighed and patted the cushion next to him, waiting for the other to sit down before continuing, "My contract with them is that I’ll work for them if Ronnie and William-darling are not killed. That had been all I wanted. It seemed fair since they would give me the opportunity to do things my way while working for them—but now there’s something they can use against me…if I stay they could use me without honoring my requirement of Will and Ronnie staying safe and alive."

"Seems to be the way they operate," agreed the mortician with a snort. He glanced at him sidelong, curious as to what this thing was they were holding over his head. He took his hat off and he shook his bangs aside to gaze deeply into Grell’s eyes. "Are you sincere about this? Mind you, I’m not an easy bloke to fool, so be careful about how you answer that."

Grell nodded, “I’m not just risking my own life anymore.” he bit his lip lightly so that he wouldn’t cut it with his sharp teeth. “It seems I’ve made a huge mistake—at least when it comes to timing and the whole thing with Dispatch…I can’t stay. Not with them, at least. But…you…I could stay with you, Unnie…” he said, leaning over and snuggling against him.

The mortician sighed, and he put an arm around him. “Not that I wouldn’t adore your delightful company, lovely, but that isn’t true. If you leave and come stay with me, they’ll come looking for you. They know you’ve been visiting me outside ‘assignments’, yeah? I could hide you for a while, but you’d never be able to set foot outside. You could disguise yourself, but they know all your tricks. Can’t have a pretty rose like you wilting for being trapped away in my dank basement levels, eh?”

He cupped Grell’s chin and tilted his head back so that he could place a kiss on his lips. “But my old head tells me you aren’t just serving me pretty words on a platter. I may have somewhere else you can go…somewhere they can’t track you right away.”

"I’m not going to ask to be sent where Will and Ronnie are." Grell shrugged, "I’m not the most trusted reaper right now, and I don’t blame them. But I don’t want to be left alone, either. I need to—not be alone."

Undertaker’s brows flew up beneath his bangs. “How in Styx did you…”

But then it dawned on him. Slingby. He was stuck just like Grell. They must have talked…and evidently figured out he knew where the refugees were hiding. “Hmph. Seems I’m not as crafty as I thought. Funny, that.”

He grinned and shook his head. “Well, my dear, there’s really nowhere else for you to go. I could sit here wondering if you’re trying to use me to find out where they are…but I don’t think you’d do that. It would muck up all your efforts to keep your crush and your apprentice safe.”

He combed his fingers through his hair, fighting an unwanted throb of jealousy over Grell’s continued, expressed infatuation with William Spears. He patted the redhead’s knee and removed his arm from around him. “Sit tight and I’ll get the tea ready. Kettle’s boiling. Then we can see about what’s to be done, yeah?”

He got up to see to the beverages, took three steps toward the hallway and he suddenly stopped at the kitchen entry, turning to frown at his guest. “By the way, love…what did you mean about it not just being your own life you’re risking? Do you mean Officer Slingby, perhaps…or is there another one of you trapped in this maze?”

"More like being born into it." Grell sighed, standing up and following the Undertaker down the hall and into the kitchen, "Unnie…I’m pregnant."  
  
There. He’d finally said it.  
  
The redhead lifted his gaze up to watch Undertaker’s response.

The mortician stared at him, suspecting a poor joke at first. “Heh…pregnant. You…you…aren’t just yanking my tassels, are you?”

Seeing the sincere anxiety and desperation in Grell’s eyes, he felt an odd sense of horror. The condom that broke by the end of their first encounter. He’d never said anything to him about it, blindly hoping that one little accident couldn’t possibly result in conception. After all, he’d never had an accident before. He’d even thought maybe he was infertile. He looked down at Grell’s stomach, examining his form more closely, and he finally detected the hint of a bump forming.

_~Couldn’t be mine, could it?~_

And the thought of it being some other reaper’s made that ugly feeling of jealousy rear up again. He abruptly reached out to tug Grell’s shirt up, and he placed his palm over his abdomen. Reaching out with his senses, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He could sense it…and he could sense his own connection to it.

"Oh dear," he muttered, snatching his hand away as if it was scalded. And here he’d just recently chewed Slingby out for abandoning his partner…and now he was going to do the same. Never mind that Eric had no idea he’d gotten Alan up the duff. The principle was still the same.

_~Me? A father? Codswallop! I’m a mortician, not a papa!~_

"I…think I should get that tea now," he said stupidly, and he turned to do just that…only to hit his head on the cabinet.

"Trust me, I wish I were joking! I don’t know what happened! We are always so careful—we used protection every time! Every _single_ time yet…and you are my only partner currently. It’s yours, Unnie.” Grell pressed on, even as he reached up to see if Undertaker’s head was alright.  
  
“So you understand, they could use this baby against me to control me—and you too. They could get what they want from us, and they know. I know they know because they are keeping an eye on the reaper medical records. I can’t stay there!”

Undertaker rubbed his smarting forehead, wincing. “All right, let’s just calm down. We need to sit. Yes…I need to sit.”

He sank down impulsively to the floor, demonstrating his point quite literally as he leaned back against the cabinets. “Oh, bugger…this is…”

He nearly said “madness”, and he caught himself with a dry chuckle. Well, of _course_ it was madness! That seemed to be the driving force in his life for the past century. He sighed and climbed back to his feet again, and he turned to the stove to get the whistling teapot.

"Go and relax in the parlor, love. I’ll get the tea ready and make a call. You’re right; you can’t stay with Dispatch; nor can you stay in London."

 

* * *

William frowned as his phone rang while he was patrolling. He thought at first that it was Ronald calling just to bother him. He had a habit of teasing him from within the warm comfort of the home they were staying in at times, reminding him of how “cushy” the couch was and telling him that he’d be waiting for him when he was done with his shift. He was surprised to see that the number was Undertaker’s, and his stomach clenched with sudden foreboding. Usually the mortician only phoned when he had information that led him to believe they were in danger of being discovered.

"Spears," he said as he answered it.

"I need you to portal here to my shop as soon as possible, chap," said the ancient without ceremony. "Bring your closest council, if you can spare them. At least bring Mr. Knox and Mr. Humphries, Willy. This is important."

William’s brow furrowed slightly. “What is this in regards to, sir?”

"A former associate of yours and a spot of trouble he’s in," answered the Undertaker. "Don’t ask questions; just get here. There’s no bloody time to waste."

Undertaker hung up after that, leaving William to stare at the phone for a moment. A “former associate” could mean many people. He sighed. He was going to have a fine time gathering his companions and explaining this.

 

* * *

"Right then," said Undertaker as he returned to the parlor after making the call. He started to sit down beside Grell again, but he decided to take the armchair nearby instead—just in case the redhead might decide to hit, claw or bite him. "First off, I think I know how this happened. That first night when you…er…persuaded me so nicely, I did notice some slight…breakage. The cock sock I used wasn’t quite up to the task, darlin’. I’m fairly sure that’s when we made the nipper. I’m not sure if the doctors on the other side have given you a due date, but we could run some tests here."

Grell narrowed his eyes, lowering his tea he’d been sipping, “And just why did you not tell me this? I could have taken further action to prevent this! They do make morning after pills for male reapers too now, you know!” Grell hissed, delivering a swift kick to Undertaker’s shin, which was sharper than he meant it to be as he forgot that Undertaker wasn’t wearing his boots.

"Ow, bugger _me_!” yelped the mortician, hopping up and limping a safer distance away. He had to remind himself that Grell was his lover—sort of—and he was pregnant. Otherwise he might have given him a kick back. “I’ve never heard of this ‘morning after’ thing, whatever it is, and I reckoned you’d be on some kind of back-up birth control, anyhow! Do you think I _planned_ this, you sassy li’l…”

At that moment he sensed a portal forming in the back part of the building and he held up a pale finger. “Hold that thought, m’dear. More company’s arriving.”

He limped away to greet William and the others, a bit flustered and more than a little confused.

"Company?" Grell questioned, standing up to follow at a distance—just in case it was Dispatch agents. His cover wasn’t blown yet, but he needed to be cautious regardless.  
  
“Stub your toe?” Ronald’s playful voice teased from the room Undertaker had just gone into.  
  
“Ronnie?” Grell gasped, rushing to the door faster and peering in.

William stepped out beside Ronald as the blond made the observation, one brow lifting slightly at the sight of Undertaker in a set of black, pink skull decorated pajamas. He coughed behind one hand and offered the other one to the third reaper that came through—Alan Humphries.

"Good evening, Undertaker," said Will politely, subtly masking his surprise. "An odd choice of attire for a meeting, I must say."

The mortician glanced down at himself, having completely forgotten he was still in his pajamas. He shrugged it off. We’ve got more important business to worry about than my fashion sense, chap. Why don’t you gents go into the parlor and sit down. There’s someone there might be happy to see you. Try not to be too hard on him, right? Alan, I s’pose we’re due for another checkup. After we finish our business here we’ll do that and make sure everything’s still looking copasetic.”

He gestured invitingly at the hallway. Will noticed the hopeful look on Alan’s face and he wondered if this mystery person could be Eric…perhaps finally deciding to come over to their side. He spotted a familiar head of long crimson hair peeking in through the doorway and he had his answer.

"Sutcliff."

Hearing Grell’s name, Alan’s hopeful expression fell and he sighed. He needed to stop getting his hopes up. Every time Eric called, every time they got a new member of their group…  
  
“It’s not him…” He muttered to himself as they filed out to the sitting room where they could all speak comfortably.  
  
Ronald frowned and slipped his arm around his shoulders, giving him a comforting squeeze, “Hey, he can’t be a complete dunce forever, right? If Grell’s here because he’s leaving them, then Eric can’t be too far behind, yeah?”  
  
Alan was about to respond when Grell suddenly had pushed his way past Undertaker and William, stopping in front of them with wide eyes trained on Alan’s belly.  
  
“Ronnie! Don’t tell me—What did you do to Allie?!”  
  
The two stiffened and began to protest at the same time.  
  
“It wasn’t me/Ronald!”

Undertaker turned and started to say something, but he shook his head. It wasn’t his business. At least, that’s what he kept _telling_ himself, but then he kept getting caught up in it anyhow. As it turned out, he didn’t need to stick his beak into it because William did it for him.

"Slingby is responsible," he informed the redhead with an annoyed look. He seemed offended that Grell would even insinuate Ronald had anything to do with it. "Which I am surprised you aren’t already aware of, Sutcliff. After all, he’s sided with our enemies, just like yourself."

Undertaker decided now was the perfect time to go and get some beverages for everyone. He swept out of the room like a ghost, leaving the young folk to sort out their issues. 

"Since when?" Grell crossed his arms, "Eric has a thing for Allie, but he never said anything about actually getting lucky with him! And here I see Ronnie with an obviously pregnant Allie, and Ronnie has a reputation!"  
  
“So you think I knocked up Alan-senpai?” Ronald grumbled. “He’s not my type, you know.”  
  
“Does Eric know? Seems he would have said something…”  
  
Alan shook his head, “I’m afraid it may make him do something stupid…”

William huffed and crossed his arms. “I hardly think the man needs an excuse to do something stupid, after all this. He went from a solid, dependable agent to a reckless sellout willing to get his partner in trouble and then abandon him. What a disgrace.”

"It…it’s not like that!" Alan insisted, "He has his reasons! I disagree with them, but they are there!"

Undertaker came back in at that point with the tea tray, and he set it down on the coffee table so they could help themselves. “I can attest to that,” he said, finally deciding to say something—if only for young Humphries’ piece of mind. “Officer Slingby paid me a li’l visit a couple months ago after I gave him a bit of a scare. I gave him a good spanking and he settled down and told me some of his story. Seemed sincere enough, to tell the truth. He was foolish enough to try and rough-handle me, after all, and most people lack the stones for that unless they’re desperate.”

The mortician grinned and nodded at Alan. “You might remember me mentioning it on your second checkup, Alan. I gave you that box he left for you. Pity I had to resort to making him think the Thorns were dragging you down, but at least it gave him incentive to contact you, eh?”

"Yes, and I do thank you for that…even if it didn’t get him to leave…" Alan reassured as he sat down in a chair.  
  
“How far along are you?” Grell asked, sitting next to Alan.  
  
“About fifteen weeks. Undertaker has been very helpful to me about it.”  
  
“Good to know.” Grell grinned over at Undertaker.

The mortician felt suddenly very self-conscious as all eyes turned to him. It was bound to come out sooner—rather than later—that he’d planted his own seed like Eric. All the more reason to convince them to take Grell in, because _he_ certainly couldn’t. “Right then, let’s get things rolling. I’ve got my property carefully guarded against busybodies, but you never can tell. Wouldn’t do for Dispatch to find a way through my safeguards and find out you’re all here, so we’d best not extend this visit for too long.”

William glanced at Grell mistrustfully. These days, he was wary of everyone save those in their tight-knit little group. The trick that Undertaker had taught them with linking allowed them all to feel a smidgeon of one another’s emotions, whenever they were running high. It was an odd feeling, but not overly intrusive. It simply allowed them to sense when someone in their group was in great distress and to track them down, working as a sort of mental compass, should they go missing. This made it far easier to trust his fellow exiles…an advantage that none of them had concerning Grell…yet.

"And what may I presume this meeting is about, sir?" he asked of Undertaker, turning his gaze to him. The tall, pajama-clad ancient was standing by the hearth with a forgotten beaker of tea in his hand. "If this is concerning negotiations for surrender—"

"Don’t be daft," interrupted the mortician, waving a hand. "This is about Miss Sutcliff joining your ragtag bunch and escaping the vice of those fascists…just like you lot did."

He nodded at the redhead, his gaze softening beneath the shag of his bangs. “He’s getting out a bit late, but just like Mr. Slingby, he’s got his reasons for staying as long as he did. You’ve worked with him. You can link with him like you have with each other. You need every hand you gents can get right now, even if…”

He trailed off, stopping himself from finishing the sentence. Even hampered by pregnancy, he believed Grell would be a valuable asset to their cause…but he was still reeling inside with the news himself.

"I know that you probably hate me even more than ever now, Will." Grell piped up, "And I don’t blame you—or anyone. My reasons for joining them were purely selfish compared to Eric. I just wanted the chance to do things my own way and to show off my talents. My only saving factor is that my contract made them required not to harm or kill you or Ronnie if they wanted me to work for them—no questions asked." He stood up and walked over to Undertaker, taking his hand, "But now I can’t be selfish. I have more than just myself on the line. So…forgive me, please."

William’s brow went up again, and he suffered a rather childish moment of jealousy. So, it was like _that_ , was it? Undertaker seemed a little hesitant in his responsive reaction, he observed. Perhaps this was just another example of Sutcliff clinging to another man he found to his fancy.

"I haven’t the foggiest idea of what you’re talking about," he said coldly to the redhead, thinking Grell meant the Undertaker with his talk of having more than himself on the line, "but if you intend to join us, you must be willing to do what the Undertaker suggested and form links with all of us. I know how you are, Grell Sutcliff. If you truly wished to preserve my life, you would have warned me…or Knox, for that matter."

"He wasn’t in a position to, chap," stated Undertaker, a hint of protectiveness rising. "Neither was Slingby. I’m not saying either of ‘em made the best choice, but we all do what we must."

"I didn’t know Unnie would call you in so soon." Grell admitted, leaning lovingly against the elder, "But he didn’t seem to like the idea of locking me away in his basement when I came to him with my little situation." He frowned, realization hitting him then, "Which reminds me, Darling, you never told me how you feel about this, apart from when it happened. Which I’m still mad you didn’t tell me right away!"

"I…well, that is…oh, bugger…" Undertaker flushed an unlikely shade of pink and pulled away from Grell. "You didn’t seem all that interested in me as more than an assignment, really. You practically admitted as much to me. Oh, don’t look at me that way…you came here wriggling that little bum in my face and you made it no secret you were desperate to recruit me. It was pretty clear you only jumped my old bones because…"

_~Careful now, old chap. He’s pregnant and moody and you’re not quite in the condition to deal with two hormonal reapers.~_

He’d noticed the expression of dawning comprehension on Alan’s face, and he cringed inwardly. “I didn’t bloody initiate it,” he finally protested, waving his arms, “well, maybe a li’l, but…”

"I beg your pardon, sir," William said, standing up, "but I demand to know what’s going on."

"Grell…" Alan eyed the redheaded reaper, "Are you also…?"  
  
“Yes…I am.” Grell said in a weak voice, staring wide-eyed at the withdrawing silver reaper. Was he saying he didn’t want their baby? “Unnie…”

Undertaker was again plagued with discomfort as everyone looked at him. He couldn’t quite maintain his mirthful smile, and he felt a tug of guilt when he looked at Grell. “Darlin’, I’m no sort of father…and you can’t stay here. They’ll be lookin’ for you, see…especially if they’ve been keeping track of your medical records. Not saying I won’t do my part to keep you and the nipper healthy and safe, but there’s no white-picket fence in the making, here.”

William compressed his lips. “Of all the reapers I have ever admired, Undertaker, I never imagined you to be—”

"What?" Cut off the mortician with a dry smirk. "A man with needs? You blokes really need to pull your heads out of your books and live in reality, once in a while. I never wanted to be your bloody ‘hero’. Never wanted to be your ‘legend’. I just wanted out…a lot like you, now. Only difference is I saw it coming before _you_ did.”

William looked at Grell, his mistrust in him fading in the face of an odd sense of…pity. “Then I suppose there is nothing more to say, Undertaker. Please do us the favor of finishing up your business with Mr. Humphries and sending us on our way. Grell Sutcliff, you will be coming with us…but be aware that my terms still stand. No-one joins us without first linking.”

He looked at the silver legend standing there—his idol—and his lip curled with disdain. “I admired you.”

Undertaker sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “That was your first mistake, lad.”

* * *

-To be continued


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Five months had passed since he’d dropped Alan off at the park and told him to go into hiding. Five months of working with the enemy as a cover, gathering intel on them so that he might find a way to procure Alan’s cure without having to bring him in. Not a day went by that Eric didn’t miss his partner, or think of that one passionate night they’d had together in a beaten down motel. Alan was now with Spears and Knox in hiding, along with a small following of other reapers that got out before the trap sprang completely shut. They were trying to plan a rebellion to take back the London Division, but they did not have the numbers nor the weaponry or resources to do so…not yet, anyways.

The one consolation he had in all this was that apparently Sutcliff had defected with them and was now with them in hiding. Eric still didn’t know what exactly prompted him to do that, but around a month after his failed mission to bring the Undertaker in to work with the usurpers, Grell disappeared. After a fruitless search for him, it was presumed he was dead—like the others in hiding. Eric suspected one of the turned agents or someone from the regime had assassinated him and the agency was covering it up; but then a few weeks after his disappearance, the Scotsman got in touch with Alan briefly and found out Grell was with them.

He never went into details. It ached his heart to hear his partner’s beloved voice sound so guarded and cool to him over the phone. No more endearments, no more pleas for him to get out of there and join them. It felt very much like Alan was giving up on him. Eric supposed he couldn’t blame him. He worked under the so-called “Revivalist” movement every day, and it made sense to him that Alan would fear he was being influenced by them and was beginning to sympathize with their cause.

It was not true though. He put on a very convincing act to convince _them_ otherwise, but his true loyalty still lay with his partner, and his primary reason for staying still had not changed. At least he now had a name to go with the ominous “face” of the organization behind the hostile takeover of Dispatch around the world…much good as that did him. He was much more excited to have learned the habits of the reaper that could purge the Thorns from Alan, and he was beginning to come up with a plan to abduct him and bring him to his partner…force him to perform the procedure on him that would cure the deadly curse and thus free Eric from his obligation to work for the enemy.

Unfortunately, his loyalty was being called into question more often than ever. His evasiveness concerning the whereabouts of his partner was making higher ups suspicious—particularly the agent posing as Lawrence Anderson. He’d already had to take two lie detector tests so far in the past three months, and they were monitoring his activities now more than ever.

It came to a head one morning when he came in for work, and Eric knew the moment the two foreign agents approached as he stepped out of his car in the parking garage that he was in trouble.

"Officer Slingby," said one of them in a Croatian accent, "You are to come with us for questioning, sir."

Eric eyed the reaper with the short blond hair warily, having never met him before, and he looked at his darker-haired companion. He recognized this one; Officer Bartolo, from Italy. “Questioning, eh? Wha’ about?”

Bartolo shrugged, looking faintly annoyed—not at him, but at the situation. “Is the usual, friend. Sorry, is nothing personal.”

Eric sighed, noticing that the Croatian fellow’s hand had started to drift towards the deadly gun holstered at his right hip. He held his hands up, the keys dangling from his fingers. “A’right. Let’s jus’ get it over wi’, then.”

He tensed inwardly as they approached to take him into custody, and the moment they were within range, he manipulated his keys into a makeshift fist weapon between his fingers and he punched Bartolo in the eye, breaking his glasses and unfortunately half-blinding him. He had no time to feel bad about it. He kicked the unfamiliar Croatian guy in the wrist, knocking the firearm he’d tried to draw out of his hand. As he did this, he drew his death scythe—which was still in the form of his custom saw—and he followed up with a slash to the Croatian’s throat. Cinematic records spilled out as the foreign agent put a hand over the cut in a hopeless attempt to keep the reels and his lifeblood inside.

Not interested in reaping Bartolo, Eric left him cursing and holding a hand over his bleeding eye. He grabbed up the Croatian’s gun as an afterthought and he unlocked his car. No point sticking around here any longer. Just as he was about to open his car door and get in, he heard a shot go off and then he felt the white-hot pain of the slug piercing his left side from behind. A couple of reels spilled out along with his blood as the specialized bullet punctured him, lodging in a rib in the process. Gagging in pain, he looked to see Bartolo aiming his gun at him, his accuracy impaired by the glass piercing his left eye. There was little doubt that had he full use of both eyes right now, he’d have probably hit him in the heart and killed him.

"Sorry," apologized the Italian again. "I always liked you, Slingby."

His intention to fire a second shot was obvious, and Eric had no choice but to banish his usual scythe and take up the one he’d procured from the Croatian agent. He lifted the gun and fired back—several times. He’d been taking shooting lessons as a requirement for when and if he ever earned the right to be issued one of the customized gun-scythes himself, but he was no crack shot, yet. The first shot missed and skipped off the pavement to blow out the tire of a nearby car, but the second shot got Bartolo in the shoulder, and the third hit him in the arm.

Now injured enough that he could no longer take aim at him, Bartolo struggled to change his hold on his weapon from his left hand to his right; but Eric was already in his car. He heard alarms going off and he knew he only had precious moments to get the hell out of there before Dispatch agents swarmed him. He cranked the automobile and the engine roared to life, and he threw it into reverse and backed out with the squeal of tires, running over the body of the vanquished Croatian in the process. Still leaking cinematic records and bleeding heavily from the bullet wound, Eric had to put the gun down in the passenger seat next to him so that he could concentrate on driving.

He peeled out and sped through the parking garage, eyes narrowed in pain. “This is gonna ruin mah leather upholstery,” he muttered, and he smirked at himself for worrying over getting bloodstains on his seat at a time like this. Maybe Alan was right and his love for cars and motorcycles was a bit on the extreme side.

He saw three agents trying to block his way with drawn guns up ahead as he made it down to the exit level, and he gunned the engine and hunkered low behind the steering wheel. Two bullets pierced the glass of his windshield, but it was reinforced enough not to shatter. Another struck the hood, and then the enemy agents were forced to dive away to avoid getting run over. Eric didn’t dare straighten up yet, and he was glad for it when he heard more shots ring out behind him. He winced as one hit his back windshield and he heard a few more hit his bumper and trunk.

Up ahead at the exit, the security gates were beginning to close. Saying a silent prayer to the gods, he compressed his lips grimly and he again winced when the passenger side of his car got scraped by the edge of the gate in passing. He heard a car horn blare as he pulled out onto the street and his vehicle fishtailed a little as he turned the wheel sharply. He put it into high gear and floored it, swerving into the far right lane to pass up a slow-moving truck. He made it through the light just as it started to turn red and he took a right at the next street.

The interstate was out of the question; they’d have it blocked off. He knew this city better than most though, and there were other routes out of downtown. His mind worked quickly as he considered his options, and it was with great sadness that he realized he was going to have to abandon his precious car. Driving it into the mortal realm would be a mistake, even if they didn’t close off all active portals or if he had the energy to create one big enough to get through in the automobile. Mortal Earth was far behind the Shinigami world in technology, still relying on the horse and carriage, coal-fueled trains and boats for transport. There were automobiles coming out in various parts of the world, but it would be years before they replaced other forms of road transport. Driving into that realm in a vehicle as advanced as his would surely draw attention to him…make him easier to track down.

"Good thing yer fully ensured," he sighed in regret, patting the dash of the car fondly.

 

* * *

Undertaker had just finished up with the procedure to raise another addition to his growing “family” when he heard the bell ring. He looked the doll over one last time before closing the casket and sealing it. He smiled in satisfaction.

"Well then, you’ll be ready in a few days for your first run," he informed the unconscious undead creature. He looked around his catacombs with a sigh, thinking of a certain _other_ addition to his family that he had neither anticipated nor particularly wanted. “Consider yourselves lucky, my pretties,” he announced as he started for the hidden exit. “You haven’t the burden of lust to distract you from your goals.”

Yes indeed…sexual desire was a powerful thing and even now, he couldn’t help but feel that particular weakness every time he was around the reaper that had gotten him into this mess. Well, that wasn’t precisely a fair thing to say. He’d willingly participated in the initial act that led to the unintended perpetuation of his genetics.

"Keep your knickers on," he grumbled as the bell rang again—more insistently. He had several of them throughout the property, so that no matter what part of his shop or personal spaces he was in, he would hear when someone came a-calling. "And you’d better not be more bloody Dispatch agents or rebels. I’ve had my fill of them."

He made his way through the sloping corridor and he opened the concealed door at the end of the passage, closing it up behind him again as he approached the stairs leading up from his basement level. After passing through his living quarters and into the shop, he flipped open the hinge on his door to look through the barred window. He sighed, recognizing the perspiring face looking back at him from the other side.

"I’ve told you folk before, I want no part of it," said the mortician peevishly, "and I’m closed for the day, so go and bother some other chap."

"I’ve go’ nowhere else tae go," said the Scotsman on the other side.

It then occurred to the Undertaker that Officer Slingby was looking unusually pale. He frowned again, curious in spite of himself. It could be a trick…or it could be that this one had finally left Dispatch too.

"What’s the trouble?" demanded the ancient.

Eric grimaced, his handsome features strained. “Been scythed,” he answered, panting softly. “Look, I’m no’ even asking ye tae help me. I jus’…need somewhere tae rest fer a while an’ then I can try an’ find someone tha’ can dig this bullet out o’ me. I know ye’ve been helping tha resistance, sir. Alan told me. I jus’ want tae get word tae him, is all.”

Undertaker smirked. “Careful, son. They like to watch my place too, after all.”

Fortunately for Eric, the mortician’s ravens had not reported any Dispatch activity in the area today…so he was probably safe. He sighed and unlocked the door to let him in, and he found it interesting that the younger man did indeed seem to be bleeding from the back left side. He’d discover the truth of it when he got him on the table. He cast a look around the street before closing his door again and locking up once more.

He turned around to speak to the Scotsman, but he heard Eric collapse behind him and he found him sprawled on the floor, unconscious. Undertaker sighed and squatted down to check his pulse. “Why do you young folk always come to _me_ , eh? Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be very nice of me to just leave you to bleed out. At least your records aren’t leaking.”

He’d heard disturbing news that the Shinigami that had taken over Dispatch had in their possession scythes in the form of firearms—which gave them deadly range to reap and fight with. He’d also heard gunshots go off that day the Dispatch group had come poking around his shop and he unleashed some of his dolls on them. He hadn’t thought to examine the bullets he’d pulled out of two of his dollies, and now he wished he’d thought to do that, considering how strange it was for reapers to use guns.

At least now he’d have a fresh one to take a look at; provided Slingby wasn’t lying about it. A normal bullet wound wouldn’t still be bleeding though, so the mortician was intrigued.

 

* * *

"Oh bugger…Spears, get your fanny over here and help me hold him down!"

"Yes sir. Eric Slingby, calm down this instant."

Hands were on him, and he growled and fought against the restraints binding his stomach-down to the examination table. Delirious with pain and loss of blood, Eric couldn’t tell friend from foe and in all truth, he probably had no friends any longer. He vaguely recalled seeking out the Undertaker’s help, but it seemed like a fever dream and all he could tell for certain when he regained consciousness was that someone was holding him down…and he didn’t like that one bit.

"Get yer fookin’ hands off me!" He tore the restraint on his left wrist and he punched out blindly. He felt his fist connect with someone and he heard a yelp of complaint that sounded vaguely familiar.

“Ouch! Eric! I’m your best friend, not your bloody punching bag! No biting either!” Ronald snapped, smacking Eric upside the head—though not hard as he didn’t want to upset the man’s injury.

"R-Ronnie?" asked the dazed Scotsman uncertainly.

Another, softer voice then cut into his consciousness amongst his struggles and grunts of pain. A caring, worried tone that Eric had only heard over the phone over the past months, one he’d longed to hear in person again. “Please, calm down, Eric. Undertaker knows what he is doing and you badly need to let him do so. You’re hurt, and he can help.”

Eric turned his head in the direction of the voice with difficulty, his cheek resting against a thin pillow someone had propped between his head and the table for him. “Al…Alan…”  
  
His glasses had been removed, so he couldn’t see very far. A blurred figure nudged between the bodies surrounding the table and squatted down, close enough for Eric to make out the youthful, beloved features. Gentle eyes, wide with worry. High cheekbones, soft, shapely lips and a head of soft brown hair framing that attractive face.

“I’m here, Eric.” Alan murmured with a gentle smile as he reached over and stroked the Scotsman’s clammy cheek with the back of his fingers. “Shh, it’s okay.”

His hand was warm and Eric sighed, missing that touch terribly. “‘S tha’ really you?” he inquired hoarsely, “Are ‘m I dreamin’?”

“Of course it’s really me, who else would I be?” Alan scolded lightly with a small, quivering smile making itself known, “and I’m begging you…please, stay still so we can save you. I need you, Eric, more than you know. I need you.”

"Good work distracting the bloke," said Undertaker’s voice from the left, and suddenly Eric felt sheet covering him yanked down, followed by the prick of a needle directly in his left arse cheek.

"Ah! Ye son of a…b-bitch…"

The medication took affect immediately, and his pupils dilated until they nearly dominated the green inner irises. He felt pleasantly warm and he blinked, surprised. It usually took longer for medication to work on him. His eyes began to drift shut, and he tried to reach out for Alan. His right wrist was still restrained and his muscles wouldn’t obey his brain’s command…relaxing under the influence of whatever the hell the old man had just given him.

"Good stuff," he muttered stupidly, still trying to reach out and touch his ex partner.

“We’ll speak again when you awaken, love…for now, just relax and let Undertaker save you for me.” Alan’s voice held a hint of tears as he slipped his hand in Eric’s and soothingly ran the fingers of his other hand through tangled golden locks, “I’ll be here for you when you wake back up.”

 

* * *

"Well, kiddies," Undertaker stated a couple of hours later after finishing up with Eric and examining the bullet he’d extracted, "seems Dispatch really _is_ using guns, now. I’m not sure how many agents have them or what the criteria is to obtain them, but I did confirm that the bullet lodged under Mr. Slingby’s ribcage is indeed of the same alloy used to create scythes.”

"So Sutcliff _was_ telling the truth, then,” mused William thoughtfully. He looked at the small, blood-stained slug in the jar that Undertaker held up, narrowing his eyes at it. “We should get rid of it.”

Ronald’s eyes widened. “Dude! No, those things are an advantage! We should study it and see if we can duplicate it for our cause! Plus, it’s pretty cool. I want one!” The youthful blond reaper made a grab for the jar. “Imagine what we could do with gun scythes!”

"Mr. Spears is right, though," said the mortician with a hint of regret in his voice— subsequently smacking Ronald’s hand away like a parent warding off a greedy child from a candy-bowl. "Odds are they’ve got some way of tracking every projectile they manufacture. Unless you blokes want ‘em coming here, we’d best chuck it. Far as they’re concerned I’m still neutral. We can’t have them poking around thinking any different before we’re ready to move in, can we?"

Ronald gave a disheartened sigh, flopping back down into a slump in his seat and abandoning all posture—along with his enthusiastic excitement over the idea of gun scythes. “I guess…still stupid to throw away such cool ideas, though.”

William refrained from reprimanding Ronald. “I will dispose of it in the river Thames. Should they even locate it, they won’t be able to track it back to this location.”

Undertaker nodded in agreement. “Just don’t touch it. The only traces of Shinigami on it are the prints of whoever’s weapon it went into and Slingby’s blood. You don’t need to chance them finding yours on it and figuring out you’re still alive, chap.”

"Understood." William took the jar from the ancient. "How is Slingby managing?"

"He’ll recover nicely," assured the Undertaker. "All patched up and healing on his own, now. Aside from a little scar, he’ll be right as rain in a week or so."

“I want to see him.” Alan said. He stood up from where he sat on the sofa, using the arm rest to help him up and catch his balance as the baby was getting large enough to start hrowing off his center of gravity. “May I?”

The mortician supported Alan impulsively, and he grunted with frustrated sympathy.

"Give him time to rest and wake up," suggested the mortician. "And you might want to give yourself some time to consider what you want to say to him. Right now—even if he starts coming too while you’re visiting—he’s not going to be coherent enough to answer any questions or make sense of things."

Slowly lowering himself back down onto the soft sofa cushions, Alan sighed and gave a little nod and he placed a hand over his pregnant belly. “I won’t disturb his rest. I just wish to be close to him again.”

"Just don’t put all your eggs in one basket," advised the mortician softly.  
  
Alan nodded, and he moved to go. Undertaker stopped him again and he leaned in to ask a soft question. “How is Miss Sutcliff holding up? We haven’t been in touch since the last time he dropped in with you all.”  
  
Alan frowned and stiffened, glancing out the corner of his eye at the man. He was grateful for all that the Undertaker had done and continued to do to help him, but he wasn’t pleased with what he’d heard happened between he and Grell, “How do you _think_ he is doing right now, after what happened?”  
  
Undertaker hesitated, and he wished he hadn’t asked the question; at least not of _this_ particular reaper. After all, Humphries was in a very similar situation himself and he would naturally feel some disgruntlement on Grell’s behalf. He wanted to tell the brunet that it was better this way, that he was no sort of father figure and his relationship with Grell was too volatile for him to be any sort of husband, either. He knew it would make no difference to Humphries, though.  
  
“Just make sure he eats right and takes care of himself, if you would,” he finally said.  
  
“I already do. At least as much as I can.” The brunet sighed, turning to go again, “But at least you do care enough to ask.”  
  
The mortician grimaced and let him go. “At least,” he mumbled.  
  
Alan settled in a creaky wooden rocking chair next to the coffin Eric had been placed in to rest. He took Eric’s hand gently in his own, pressing a little sad kiss to his fingers before speaking slowly and quietly. “Rhea, you really are an idiot at times, Eric…I wish you had run away with me.” He said this knowing that Eric wouldn’t hear him in his sedated state. “But you already know that…I asked you so many times to do so. And I do understand your reasoning—I do, but…It doesn’t make me any less angry at you for it. I needed you with me more than I needed you to chase after yet another so-called cure to Thorns.”  
  
He took a deep breath, “You did it for me, but you still abandoned me when I needed you the most. You left me on my own—left _us_ on our own without you for all these months. It wasn’t fair, it was cruel. You’re good intentions aside, it was cruel, Eric.”  
  
Alan’s tongue poked out and wet his lips as he glanced down at his belly, running a hand over it in thought, “I know you made sure we were taken care of…had friends with us. Ronald and William—people that could be trusted, but it was you that I needed—we needed. I hate that I keep sounding like a child about this, but I think…maybe I have a right to whine, but Eric, so much has happened and I worried every day…every single day that you would slip up…get yourself killed, and I—“  
  
Alan choked up, blinking back tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks. He gazed down at Eric’s face. The Scotsman was still lying on his stomach, stitched and bandaged up where Undertaker had to go in to remove the bullet from him. The ancient had promised he would be okay, and Alan had to believe that.  
  
“I couldn’t handle it if we lost you…”

* * *

  
  
Eric woke up the next day, confused and disoriented. Undertaker found him trying to leave and he stopped him firmly. “Bad idea, chap,” he said. “First, you need some nourishment and then you could use a rest. After that, you need to tell me exactly what happened so I can relay it to your friends in hiding…that is, if you still consider them friends.”  
  
Too weak and sick to argue, Eric took his offer of a meal and as he sat down at the mortician’s small dining table with him, he told him how he’d been injured. “Had tha gun wi’ me,” he said between spoonfuls of soup. He was hungrier than he’d thought and the old man was a better cook than he would have suspected. “But I had tae toss it. All tha new reaper scythes are made wi’ tracers on ‘em, tae keep up wi’ ‘em an’ tha agents assigned to ‘em.”  
  
“As I thought,” said the ancient without surprise. “So you abandoned it with your car, before creating a portal to this realm, eh?”  
  
“Had tae walk a spell first,” answered the Scotsman. “I didnae want tae portal out too close, an’ I made sure no’ tae pick a destination close tae yer shop, so they couldnae track me here easily.”  
  
“Hmm.” Undertaker grinned. “Cunning…industrious…mayhap you aren’t as big an idiot as your former partner says, Mr. Slingby.”  
  
Eric grimaced. “Al’s got good reason tae think tha’ way.”  
  
“Even more so now,” muttered the ancient. “But maybe you can prove yourself to be less of a fool than I am, yeah? Let’s find out.”  
  
Eric stared as his host got up from the table and started to leave through the archway leading into the hallway to the shop. “What’re ye doin’?”  
  
“Making a phone call to your dearly abandoned, Mr. Slingby,” called out the mortician. “If you have plans to run, now might be a good time.”  
  
His snickers drifted back from the hallway, and Eric’s heart picked up a beat. Alan. He was calling Alan. Recalling a fuzzy memory of having his hand held by the brunet, the Scotsman swallowed. How could he face him again, after months of avoiding contact other than a quick phone call when he could spare it? Then again, how could he not? Everything he’d done had been for Alan. He’d told him as much but he wasn’t sure he believed him…and gods, did he ever miss him. The Scotsman pulled his borrowed shirt closer around him, unable to button it up because it was designed for someone much narrower of build than he was. 

* * *

  
  
_"Mr. Humphries, someone here would very much like to see you, I think. He’s up and kicking and I think if anyone can persuade him to stay on this side of the fence, it’s you."  
_  
Eagerly yet nervously, Alan hung up the phone after he’d been informed he could finally speak with Eric, and he immediately formed a portal that would take him directly into the Undertaker’s shop. He took care to work it as he and the others had been taught. The old reaper had shielding in place that would not only prevent outsiders from teleporting directly into his residency, but mask the energy of such portals from anyone outside scanning for it. The wily ancient had taught Alan and the others involved in the resistance how to work the energies so that they could bypass the restrictive field whenever they met up with him. So far, it seemed Dispatch had no idea he’d taken a side.  
  
The transportation of using the portal made Alan dizzy as soon as he stepped through. Portal Travel wasn’t pregnancy-friendly after all, and it took its toll on his body. Immediately as he stepped into the London shop, Alan swayed, on the verge of collapsing. Before he could collapse a pair of strong arms encircled his waist and supported him, holding him up against a strong chest. He glanced up at the handsome face of the Scotsman holding him up.  
  
“Eric…” he breathed, leaning back against him a moment, savoring the feeling of being held by the love of his life once more. He reached up and cupped his cheek, running his hand over his scruff that had grown in. “Didn’t bring a razor?” he commented with a small smile.  
  
Eric smiled down at him. His jaw was shadowed with dark gold stubble to blend with the goatee he typically kept. “Couldnae find a razor tae tidy it up fer ya, sweetheart. Lugh, I’ve missed ya.”  
  
Alan sighed and slipped out of Eric’s embrace, mentally reminding himself that he was still angry at him for leaving him alone. They had to talk about things, not cuddle. He sighed and looked at the mortician standing across the room at a writing desk, giving him a nod, “Thank you for helping him.”  
  
Undertaker inclined his head in a nod. “He was a lot less fussy once I got him medicated, lil’ chap. I’ll just go in the back and give you two some privacy. I think you’ve got plenty to discuss.”  
  
Alan nodded again and uttered another word of thanks before he was left alone with Eric. He then turned around to take in Eric’s appearance. He looked much better now that he wasn’t strapped down with the Undertaker trying to dig a bullet out of him. He’d been taking care of himself, at least. Alan’s eyes moved over his strong shoulders under the too-tight black shirt that acted as a layer of skin over his arms. The front was unbuttoned— likely because it was already straining. Alan was sure that if Eric flexed the wrong way that the seams would split. The Scotsman’s tan chest and abs lay exposed to him, catching his attention as his eyes slid down his form.  
  
Alan flushed, tearing his eyes back up. He didn’t need his hormones to start raging more than they already were, and Eric was all too tempting. His own personal sex god, even when he was unkempt at the moment.

“You look…amazing,” he finally commented, snapping his eyes up to Eric’s and noticing how Eric’s eyes were trained on his middle, questions swirling in the golden-green pools.  
  
“Back at ya,” answered Eric. His eyes stayed on Alan’s stomach. “Er…did ya put on some weight, Al?”  
  
Alan sighed and shifted, though a small smile appeared on his lips. “I think that is quite obvious that I have…a little.” He bit his lip and watched Eric’s face, waiting for realization to click in. When it didn’t, he sighed and stepped closer, reaching out to take Eric’s hand, “I told you I was keeping it…and, well, we have really been needing you, Eric. More than you have realized.” He pressed Eric’s hand to his belly to let him feel the little soul growing within him.  
  
Eric’s eyes widened behind the tinted lenses of his glasses as the baby kicked. “Oh…oh mah gods,” he exclaimed breathlessly. His eyes met Alan’s. “Y-yer pregnant? H-how…och, tha’s a stupid question, innit? It had tae be…it’s mine, right?”  
  
“How many men do you think I have slept with?” Alan asked, crossing his arms with an annoyed sigh, “Of _course_ it’s yours! You are the only one I have ever wanted to be with in that way, and the only one I have.” He looked down at the large hand resting on his belly, feeling the baby move inside, “We…should have used protection, but I wasn’t thinking, and I don’t carry that kind of thing on me…”  
  
Eric closed his eyes and cursed softly. “Dammit, I had some in mah car an’ I ne’er even thought tae go an’ get it! I…I dun’ know wha’ tae say. I’d like tae say I’m sorry, but…”  
  
A smile grew on his lips, and it reminded Alan of the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Eric laughed and he put his arms around him, hugging him.  
  
“You aren’t…mad that I kept it?” Alan asked, his eyes wet in response to the unexpected but welcome embrace he found himself in.  
  
Eric kissed the crown of his head and shook his head, rocking him a little in his arms. “No…I’m verra happy, my heart. Why din’ ya tell me before? All those times we checked in wi’ each other o’er tha phone, an’ ya ne’er mentioned it!”  
  
“I did.” Alan sighed, “Kind of. I told you I was keeping it. But I didn’t want to be too open about it with you because I feared you wouldn’t want it and tell me to abort, or that you would want to keep it and you’d get more desperate in your mission. I didn’t want you to start making mistakes and get caught or killed.”  
  
Eric pulled back to look down at him with a puzzled frown. “Why would I ask ye tae get rid of…oh. Th’ Thorns.” He swallowed and he rubbed his hands up and down Alan’s arms. “I’d ne’er do any o’ tha’ tae yeh, sweetheart. I love ya too much, even if tha’s hard fer yeh tae believe right now. But tell me…is tha baby a’right? Healthy? Could tha Thorns hurt it?”  
  
“As far as we can tell, the baby is perfectly healthy,” reassured Alan. “We don’t have everything a hospital would have for check-ups, but Undertaker has helped me a lot with my pregnancy. As for my Thorns…they…stopped growing at the moment. It seems that they are dormant while I’m pregnant. They aren’t a threat to the baby or myself.”  
  
Eric blinked. “Then all I had tae do tae cure ‘em was knock ya up? Damn, if I’d known tha’, I would have shagged ye a lot sooner!”  
  
“Not cured!” Alan flushed, “Dormant until the baby is born. Undertaker says it’s likely they will start to attack again after the baby is here. I’ve been given an extra nine months to life, that’s all.” poked Eric in the side.  
  
Eric scratched his goatee. “Tha’ so? But pregnancy stops ‘em from growin’?”  
  
“Yes,” the brunet confirmed with a small nod, “and the baby and I are both perfectly fine for the time being.”  
  
Eric was looking at him calculatingly. “Ye always wanted a big family, aye?”  
  
“Eric Cameron Slingby, you are not keeping me pregnant for the rest of eternity! My idea of a big family would be two—maybe three kids! Not doing more than that!” Alan scolded with a light chuckle.  
  
The Scotsman shrugged and lowered his gaze. “Cannae blame a man fer tryin’.” He sighed and looked at him again, reaching out to caress his face. “Tha thought of losin’ ya tears me up.”  
  
Alan’s smile faded and he placed his hand over Eric’s, “I know…and I hate the idea of leaving you behind—leaving our child behind. I want to raise him or her with you, be a family…retire off to some little house in the country eventually where we can have a big garden and the laughter of children surrounding us. I’ve been thinking of it a lot, lately…”  
  
“There’s a way,” insisted Eric, “if we can get tha man tha’ has th’ treatment into our custody. He’s shown it to me, Al. I think it could work—but he’s tha only one tha’ knows how tae do it safely.”  
  
“So you have told me, but Eric…it’s impossible,” The smaller reaper insisted, squeezing Eric’s hand.  
  
“It’s true. I can prove it if I can jus’ get him here tae show ye. I’ll bet Undertaker could even confirm it for ya, once he sees wha’s involved.”  
  
Alan closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Eric’s chest. The Scotsman was so hopeful about the so-called cure, it was starting to give him hope, though he fought it with the facts. “Lets say…the cure is real. That it would work…that this man can save my life.” He slipped his arms around Eric. “Then how? How will you get him to me now? Based on that bullet Undertaker dug out of you, they know you aren’t on their side now, right? You can’t go back, and unless you have him hidden in your pocket, I don’t see how it will work.”  
  
The taller reaper grimaced. “No…but I know his schedule. We’d just have tae nab him off tha street on his way tae work, or when he goes tae his favorite pub fer drinks on the weekends.”  
  
“It’s dangerous. None of us can go walking around freely—you included. Undertaker is the only one with freedom right now because they don’t know he’s not neutral any longer.”  
  
Eric smiled on sudden inspiration, and Alan groaned. “Eric—no, you can’t—“  
  
“Ya don’ even know wha’ I was about tae say!”  
  
“Yes I do. We have been partners for years! I know how that head of yours works.” Alan countered, crossing his arms, “And you will not ask the Undertaker to go out and do dangerous double-agent work for us just so he can grab this guy.”  
  
Eric scratched his chin again. “Yer good, bonnie lad.”  
  
“And,” Alan continued, “they won’t trust him if he suddenly steps up to join them. Not after all these months of him refusing every little offer and all the times he’s set his dolls loose on them. It’d be suspicious and all the more dangerous for him.”  
  
Eric sighed. “I see yer point. Well then, I’ll jus’ have tae risk it.”  
  
“Pardon me,” said the mortician’s voice all the sudden. Both of the younger reapers jumped, having not even heard the door to the back open up. He walked in with eerie grace and he smiled at them. “Couldn’t help but overhear the conversation just now, and you don’t really need the man with the alleged cure.”  
  
“Think so?” Eric turned and crossed his arms over his bared chest. “Then wha’ would ye say we need, auld man?”  
  
“Ah, you young folk and your over-thinking ways,” chuckled the ancient. He went over to his desk and he hopped lightly onto it, crossing his booted legs beneath his robes. “All you really need is a good hacker. Someone that could break into Dispatch research files on one of those compuper thingies and snatch up the…er…data.”  
  
“It’s called a computer, sir.” Alan corrected respectfully, though they had corrected him before, “But Eric said this man is the only one who could do it safely.”  
  
“Rot,” said the mortician dismissively. “There’s no such thing as a treatment that only one person in existence can perform, lil’ chap. Mr. Slingby, what did this ‘cure’ entail, pray tell?”  
  
Eric stretched a little to loosen the tightness in his sore muscles, grimacing at the tension around the site of his healing injury. “Wull, th’ way he explained it tae me is tha’ Thorns of Death is a curse caused by bits o’ cinematic records clinging tae a reaper’s own reels when they pass through him or her. If it happens too often, those bits can get hostile and start infesting tha host wi’ Thorns…like a cancer.”  
  
Undertaker nodded. “Mm-hmm…and that’s exactly why fledgling reapers are strongly advised not to allow the reels to pass through them, and to gather them quickly before they can become aggressive. I’m curious, Mr. Humphries…why would you deliberately allow the cinematic records of your reaping assignments to pass through you? By all accounts I’ve heard, you’re a competent reaper. Seems a bit odd that you’d have enough ‘accidental encounters’ to contract the curse, if you ask me.”  
  
A shamed and guilty expression assaulted the brunet’s face and h struggled to let his confession out. But there was no use in hiding it, and lies would only hurt things more.  
  
“I…I wanted to understand them better…to understand what death was like for them, what they felt. I wanted to know if it was painful, or peaceful. It was so depressing that I needed to know if there was something good waiting for them on the other side—if only I could feel them at peace, I could go on with it…I could do my job.” He glanced up at Eric, waiting for the man’s reaction.  
  
Eric sighed. “Ye were always too compassionate fer yer own good, sweetheart. How many times?”  
  
Alan’s guilty look only increased as he glanced down at his hands, “I…don’t know exactly how many times. Well over a dozen, at least. It became addictive, and I didn’t think…I didn’t know it could…they never taught us _why_ we shouldn’t…”  
  
Eric’s eyes widened, but Undertaker interrupted before he could blurt a lecture. “What’s done is done, and you wouldn’t be the first reaper agent to allow his misguided compassion to cloud his judgment. Plenty of reapers can become suicidal or fall into madness.”

The mortician chuckled. “I should know. Don’t be too hard on the boy, Slingby. He only did what was in his nature to do, and your little ‘oopsie’ has bought him some time.”  
  
Eric sighed. “A’right, I’ll keep my thoughts tae myself. Anyways, the scientist tha’ has th’ treatment told me it involves purging the reaper’s cinematic records of tha hostile reel fragments tha’ cause the Thorns.”  
  
“But how would that help us? We don’t have anyone who could deal with cinematic record procedures,” Alan pointed out. “Not just any reaper doctor can do that.”  
  
Undertaker cleared his throat and raised his brows beneath his shaggy bangs, jerking his own thumb at himself.  
  
“You can?” Alan questioned hesitantly.  
  
The mortician shrugged. “Let’s see; the treatment is to fiddle with cinematic records, yeah? What do you think ol’ Undertaker’s been doing for the past five years…knitting? I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but there aren’t many blokes that can manipulate the reels like yours truly. If the answer is to purge foreign bits of records from yours, then you needn’t look any further than this mortuary, my dear.”  
  
“I ne’er considered that,” admitted Eric a little sheepishly. “Probably should have.”  
  
“Yes, but you’re still young by my standards, and therefore a bit stupid.” Undertaker’s teeth flashed in a trollish smile.  
  
Eric snorted. “Ageist.”  
  
The mortician snickered. “Just honest. Young folk tend to get in a rush all the time and not think things through completely.” He cleared his throat and chose not to address his own little “rush” that resulted in his unplanned siring of a little reaper. “Now, how about you tell us everything that’s been going on, and all of the details behind how you arrived here bleeding from a bullet wound, hmm?”  
  
Eric sighed and began to explain everything, with his lover and the mortician listening attentively. 

* * *

  
“So, tha’s wha’ happened,” finished the Scotsman at last. “I’ve go’ plenty more information tae share, but I’m startin’ tae feel woozy.”  
  
“Yes, you did lose quite a bit of blood,” said the Undertaker. “I think for now you should return with your partner to the home base he and the others have been staying at. I trust you don’t intend to do anything stupid like attempt to return to work?”  
  
“O’ course no’,” assured Eric. He looked at his beloved uncertainly. “But are ye sure I’d be welcome tae go home wi’ ya? Are ya…still my Alan?”  
  
“I’m always ‘your Alan’, Eric.” Alan reassured, slipping his arms around Eric, “And you’re still my Eric. Even if you hurt me when you refused to run away with me over and over. But you’re here now, and we need you. I trust you and the others will too after they finish asking all their questions, I’m sure of it.”  
  
Eric hugged him back, his throat tightening with emotion. “I’ll make it all up to ye somehow, Alan. Cannae believe I’m goin’ tae be a Da!”  
  
Alan smiled and kissed Eric’s cheek, “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you are happy about this.” He took his hand, “Lets go home so you can rest up and meet our newer members of the group. Then we can see about hacking in for the information about the cure.”  
  
“Wha’ about Spears?” suggested Eric, stroking Alan’s hair slowly. “They decided it was time tae drop tha hammer ‘cause he cracked one of their codes an’ found an encrypted file. Maybe he could do it.”  
  
“Maybe, or Alex. He’s good with the computer. But there is no rush, we have four months before the baby is due, and I don’t want to risk the baby. We’ll wait until after for the cure.”  
  
“And once the nipper’s born,” said Undertaker, “we should try to get started on the process right away. I don’t want to alarm you chaps but there’s a possibility the Thorns could resume growing with a vengeance, once they wake back up. Or they could stay dormant for a while longer; I really couldn’t say. Best nip it in the bud as soon as possible though…er…so to speak.”  
  
“I’m on board wi’ tha’,” enthused Eric. He felt more hope now than ever before, and he was confident that what allies they had liked and cared for Alan enough to make an effort to save him. He had a lot to make up for, though.  
  
“Come on, we’ll get you some clothes that fit better and get you in bed.” Alan said, giving his hand a squeeze.  
  
“Eager tae jump mah bones, eh?” teased the Scotsman with a wink.  
  
“To rest, Eric. Don’t push your luck with me right now,” sighed the brunet with a scolding tone. “Us jumping into bed together is what got me into this mess in the first place.” Still he smiled, all too happy to finally have Eric back.  
  
Undertaker hopped down from the desk. “Here, allow me. You don’t need to be wearing yourself out in your condition, Alan, and your man doesn’t know how to make his portals untraceable.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.” Alan bowed his head, “For everything.”  
  
“Think nothing of it.” Undertaker wove the dark energies to create the one-way portal that would take the pair back to the current location of the exile base. “Give Miss Sutcliff my regards, would you?”  
  
“Maybe you should try to talk to Grell yourself sometime,” Alan said, walking over to the portal with Eric, “but I’ll pass on your message. Just don’t expect them to be well-received.”  
  
The mortician sighed. “Fair enough.”  
  
“What’s goin’ on wi’ Grell?” Eric questioned as he stepped up to the portal with his companion.  
  
“It’s…well, you will see soon enough.” Alan sighed, “Come on.”

* * *

  
Eric blinked in disorientation, shading his eyes from the beaming sun as they stepped out of the portal onto a beach. “Uh, where tha hell are we, Alan?” It was hot, and the salty breeze coming in from the sea was a blessing. It was strange to go from England’s damp, chilly climate to this blue skied, sunny place.  
  
“A little place we like to call home, currently. But you’ll know it as Greece.”  
  
Eric turned to stare at him. “Greece? Ye’ve been living in Greece?”  
  
Alan smirked. “As it turns out, the Athens division hasn’t yet been taken over, and we have allies within it. This is the safest place in either realm for us, right now. London Dispatch is still searching England, Ireland and all the nearest countries for us. We were forced to flee Denmark when they tracked us down to there, and Undertaker had contacts in Greece and suggested we travel here. We’ve been here for around two months now, with more coming in each week.”  
  
Eric turned around a bit, seeing no structures on the beach. “So where’s tha base? Underwater?”  
  
“More like up there, my love.” Alan chuckled, pointing up to the cliffs lining the beach  
  
Eric looked up to see a rather large Grecian estate, overlooking the sea. It was hard to say from his perspective, but it looked like it might have been a resort hotel. He whistled softly. “Nice. How’d ya manage such fancy digs?”  
  
Alan shrugged. “As I said; Undertaker had contacts and they arranged it for us when they learned there was a resistance happening. They’re quite worried about being taken over as well, and they haven’t allowed any foreign transfers or new applicants since word reached them about the takeovers happening elsewhere. We were welcomed warmly, though.”  
  
“Scotland’s resisting too,” informed Eric with a proud little smirk. “So’s Romania. Dunno how long mah countrymen can keep it up, though, bein’ right next tae England. Ireland fell right after ye go’ out, sadly.”  
  
Alan nodded, putting an arm around him to steer him toward the path winding up from the beach. “You Scots and the Irish are notorious rebels. I think they’ll both give Dispatch a run for their money, even if Ireland is currently under their thumb.”  
  
Eric laughed softly. “Yeah. Us Celts ‘r too stubborn tae admit defeat indefinitely. Makes me feel like a bad Scotsman, tae take their offer an’ join ‘em so quick.”  
  
“You didn’t do it for yourself, though. You did it for me—for my illness.” Alan reminded gently, “And now you are back with me where I can keep you thinking straight. Things will be okay, you’ll see.”  
  
The blond’s expression darkened a bit. “Nothin’s gonna be okay ‘till we run those bastarts out of our organization, love.”  
  
The brunet countered quickly, “We survived, didn’t we? And we have them worried about what we have been up to, based on what Undertaker has told us.” He paused in his stride and moved in front of his lover, “Eric—I’m glad you transferred to London. I’m glad you are in my life.”  
  
Eric looked down at him, and he leaned in to give him a kiss on the temple. “Might have been a bit better,” he remarked, only half-teasing, “but I’m a verra selfish man an’ I’ll take yer gratitude an’ run wi’ it.”

* * *

  
Eric was exhausted by the time he finished meeting all of the other refugees and explaining himself to William, Ronald and Grell. He was shocked to discover that Grell was expecting too, and apparently the Undertaker was the father. Knowing that Ronald liked to bottom, he gave him a suspicious look and asked him if he might have a bun in his oven too, after learning that he and William had hooked up. Ronald was properly horrified by the very suggestion and he swore up and down he was avoiding sex until he and William had the protection to avoid the dreaded babies.  
  
Eric couldn’t help but tease him and tell him he’d look cute with a baby bump, until the younger blond was so flustered and annoyed that he threatened to deck him. Some of his frustration stemmed from the fact that his bike was still in the parking garage of Eric’s apartment, and there was no way to safely retrieve it. He didn’t blame the Scotsman though, and he seemed appreciative of his effort to keep it safe for him. They discussed with William the possibility of him attempting to hack the London division’s database, and he informed them that Alexander Jeffries might have a better chance at it.  
  
After that, they found Eric a couple changes of clothes in his size and he made plans to shop for more. Alan explained to him that some of the stores in Shinigami Athens carried his preferred fashion, but it was advised by all of them that he pick up some mortal civilian clothes when he could to blend in with the humans in this part of the world, in the event that anyone from the compromised branches showed up searching for missing escapees.  
  
The resort had forty rooms in all, and so far twenty-three of them were filled. Alan showed him to the room he was staying in, and he offered one of the keys to it.  
  
“I…assume you’d want to share with me, that is…” Alan flushed, nervously, “You can have your own room if you’d prefer…”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?” Eric questioned, taking the key. “Yer carryin’ mah baby, Alan. Even if ya need some time, I want tae be wi’ ye. I’ll sleep on tha floor if I have tae.”  
  
Alan smiled, relieved and comforted by Eric’s words as he opened the door. “No need for that. The bed is big enough for you, me, and our kid to all share.” The room was spacious and airy, the large windows opposite the door were open, letting in the breeze that blew the white curtains in the bright sunlight.

“We also have—what Ronald has called—a ‘killer view’ of the ocean.” He walked over to the window and leaned against the windowsill, watching as the sun began it’s decent over the water, “I prefer to call it beautiful. Peaceful…it’s almost like we are on vacation—if it weren’t for the circumstances that brought us here in the first place.”  
  
Eric came up behind him and he embraced him, kissing his ear. “Aye, real pretty. No’ bad fer a bunch o’ exiles, eh?” He put his hands over the gentle swell of Alan’s tummy, closing his eyes. The kid wasn’t moving right now, but he still enjoyed feeling the life growing in there. He rested his chin on the smaller man’s shoulder and he sighed. “Thanks.”  
  
“For?” Alan asked, leaning back against Eric.  
  
“Fer givin’ me a second chance,” replied the Scotsman, nuzzling his temple. He rubbed Alan’s stomach in slow circles. “An’ fer keepin’ tha baby. Never knew I wanted tae be a Daddy so much, ‘till now.”

* * *

-To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

"Oooh…Eh—Eric…" Alan gasped as his body reacted shamelessly to the feel of Eric’s hands softly caressing his sides as they lay in on their bed they now shared. Eric’s strong frame pressed up against his back and it made him swell in his light blue pajama bottoms. Oh how he longed for that big, protective hand to slip beneath his silk shirt and touch his flushed skin. He rolled over in the taller man’s arms and he looked up at him, slipping his arms around his neck.  
  
“You have no idea how much I have missed you,” he breathed, resting in so close that his nose touched Eric’s clavicle. “How much I have wished for this chance again…”  
  
He couldn’t help it; going months without a single kiss or touch from the reaper that had stolen his heart proved too much for him all the sudden, and he needed to explore Eric’s body more than that taste he’d gotten their special night together in that little motel. He yanked the Scotsman down for a demanding kiss, claiming his mouth with an eagerness that showed his inexperience and need. When he felt Eric react, kissing him back with that talented mouth of his, Alan moaned into the blond’s lips and parted his own to allow entry. His hardening member poked out the top of his pajama bottoms and pressed against Eric’s leg.  
  
He wanted—no, he needed more.

"Mmm, look wha’ we’ve started," purred the Scotsman against his lover’s mouth. He glanced down at the flushed tip of Alan’s arousal and he couldn’t resist reaching down to pet it with his fingertips, gently teasing it. He groaned in his throat as a drop of moisture formed on it, slippery against the pad of his finger.

Alan gasped, a pleasurable shiver running through his body. No self-control. He’d only had Eric back for a few short hours and already he’d lost all control, and he’d been the one to jump Eric’s bones. He’d be embarrassed if he weren’t so lost in the Scotsman’s touch.  
  
He shifted, pressing up against Eric, his belly acting as a buffer and stopping them from getting too close without squishing the baby slightly.  
  
“Your fault,” Alan moaned, “you made me too needy…”

"Yer sae damned hot, I cannae help mahself," Eric murmured with a grin, kissing those parted, gasping lips. His own arousal was straining against the borrowed pajama bottoms he wore. William was of a height with him, but he was slimmer. The pajamas were a bit snug, and Eric started to laugh despite his discomfort when he glanced down and noticed he was literally tearing the seam in the crotch.

"Will’s gonna be pissed," he predicted, grimacing. "I think I’d better take these things off before I ruin ‘em, sweetheart." He winked at the squirming brunet he was leaning over. "Any objections tae tha’?"

Alan eagerly shook his head, “Need help?” He pushed himself up and sat on his folded legs, trying not to stare too much at the strained seam housing his lover’s arousal. Rhea, he felt like a hormonal teenager. Though, he supposed it wasn’t too far off—given his condition.

Eric untied the drawstrings and he smiled at his lover, allowing Alan to do the honors of tugging them down. He nearly laughed at the greedy way the small, pregnant brunet stared at his swollen endowments once he’d kicked off the pajamas, but he restrained himself. He was no less needy, and he worked quickly to level the scales. He tugged Alan’s pajama bottoms down and he helped him out of the top, tossing the clothing articles aside hastily. He let his gaze wander over the slim, pale figure of his lover, lingering on the swell of his abdomen before moving on to his erection.

"How could I have ever left ya?" He wondered aloud, tracing the faint marks of the Thorns with his fingertips. He stopped over the baby bump and he rubbed it gently. "We’re gonna be a family, an’ I’ll ne’er give ye up again, my heart."

Alan’s lips curved in a gentle smile, “I’ll be holding you to that.” he placed his hand over Eric’s hand, holding it to the baby bump, “ _we’ll_ be holding you to it.”

Eric lowered his head to kiss the mound he was rubbing on. “I swear tae ya both; I’m here t’ stay now.”

Without even consciously thinking about it, he let his hand glide down below Alan’s navel. He began to fondle him again as he stretched out beside him, his lips seeking out the smaller reaper’s. His length twitched against Alan’s thigh as he slid his tongue into his mouth and again demonstrated his kissing skills, sensually stroking, thrusting and curling in the moist heat of his mouth. He laid one muscular leg across Alan’s as he pleasured him, more than eager to join with him again. He hesitated though; worried about getting too rough and hurting him or the baby.

"Mm…at least…"Alan flushed as he joked, "…we don’t have to worry about you getting me pregnant this time." His cheeks flushed bright pink from the strong desire he was experiencing. He grabbed Eric’s shoulders and pulled him into a kiss again, demanding his full attention.

Eric’s breath caught, and he suppressed a groan. So much time apart; and he’d only gotten to experience the sweetness that was his partner for one single night. He could easily see himself having a large family with this reaper…if he could just stop the Thorns from killing him.

"Love ye sae much, Alan," he murmured against the animated lips. His hand paused its stroking to move lower, cupping and fondling the sack beneath the shaft. "Tell me ye’ve go’ somethin’ we can use fer this. I…dinnae get tha chance tae pick up anything."

As he’d confessed to his partner before; he generally kept lubricant and protection on him…but since he’d had to send Alan away, he’d stopped that practice and he’d had no time to gather any of his belongings before fleeing to the hideout.

"Uhh…" Alan pulled away, his face going even redder. Lube, right. That was very much needed. Condoms not so much because he was already pregnant, but…  
  
Sighing, Alan rolled out of bed and grabbed his robe, pulling it on and tying it around himself, “Don’t move. I think I know where we can get some with…minimal embarrassment.” he kissed Eric’s cheek and hurried across the hall to William and Ronald’s room, knocking on the door and hoping that Ronald was in.

* * *

 

William opened the door, his annoyed expression softening upon seeing Alan. “Is anything wrong, Mr. Humphries?”

"Uhh…I was hoping Ronald would be the one to answer…" Alan flushed.  
  
“I would, but I just got out of the shower and Will would pass out from lack of breathing from scolding me if I answered the door naked.” Ron’s cheerful voice called out from somewhere within the room where Alan thankfully couldn’t see. “Wha’cha want, Al?”  
  
Crap. It seemed William would have to be there for this, anyway. Alan lowered his voice as quietly as he could, while still making it so that William could hear. “I—I was hoping Ronald would have some…uh…” He shifted, feeling very self-conscious all of a sudden. “…oils…or lube…something that would…you know…” He bit his lip.  
  
“Hey, Will, Alan still there?” Ron called out, obviously not having heard the request. “If not, where’d my boxers go? I thought I had them on the floor here…”

William straightened his glasses and stepped aside, politely gesturing for Alan to come in. “I…think you would be best off asking him that yourself,” he said tactfully.

He resisted the instinctive urge to scold. That particular horse had long since escaped from the barn, and there was no point in making Alan feel ashamed of wanting to be intimate with the father of his child. If anyone needed scolding right now, it was Slingby. Will strongly believed the Scotsman should at least propose to Alan before seeking further sexual gratification from him, but for all he knew, he’d already done so.

"Please do come in, Alan. Perhaps Ronald can…help you."

He tried not to think of said blond’s shameless proclamation about answering the door naked. Honestly, it was difficult enough to hold back all the time without him prancing about in the nude.

"Welp, I guess there goes the rest of my modesty. Thanks, Will." Ronald joked, still very nude as Alan was let into the room. The brunet, however, respectfully turned his back.

Alan took a deep breath. He’d already said the words once and William had heard, after all. “Ronald, I was hoping…you could lend me a bottle of oils or…lube.” He flushed again.  
  
Ronald blinked, “Damn, Eric’s working fast…he doesn’t have some? Normally he’s the go-to man for things like that. Uh…hold on.”  
  
Abandoning his search for his boxers, Ronald rushed over to the wardrobe, digging through his half of it until he found two unopened bottles, and he held them up. “I got rose oil and, my personal favorite, citrus-scented oil. You can go ahead and keep one.”

William pointedly stared at the wall and folded his hands over one another, his face heating as his boyfriend—whom he purposely avoided looking at while in such a state of undress—casually strolled over to Alan and handed the items over.

"At least someone will get use out of it," he muttered under his breath. Heavens, why on earth did Knox always insist on tempting him this way? For someone so adamantly against risking unplanned pregnancy, he certainly seemed determined to test his limits of self-control and get himself shagged.

"I…only need one." Alan stuttered.  
  
“So choose one.” the blond shrugged, “Then take it and go shag the arse that knocked you up.”  
  
Alan quickly handed the citrus oil back over to Ron, nearly dropping it in his hurry to get out of such an awkward situation.  
  
Ronald chuckled and tossed the bottle of oil on the bed and resumed his search. “Seriously Will, if you moved them off the floor, just tell me. I don’t mind sleeping in the nude. In fact, I prefer it. I only wear them so you don’t freak out in that cute flustered way of yours.”

"I most assuredly did _not_ move them,” defended William, still staring at the wall. “Why in Styx would I do that? I don’t require any more temptation than what’s already presented to me, thank you.”

Ronald shrugged and walked up behind his boyfriend with a mischievous grin, “I would think because you don’t like it when I just leave clothes on the floor. But if you didn’t, I’m afraid I’ll just have to sleep as I am.” He slipped his arms around William.

The brunet sucked in a sharp breath, and his pajama pants tented rather abruptly at the crotch. “Ronald,” he said in a strained voice, “please put something on…some sort of barrier between us besides just my own pajamas. I’m afraid I cannot trust myself to reciprocate your affection without dishonoring my half of our agreement, otherwise.”

He would certainly never attempt to force Ronald and the blond surely knew that, but William found it difficult at times. He heard other couples’ nightly activities sometimes when going for something to eat or drink, and it was a harsh reminder that he and Ronald had agreed to abstain until they either could obtain additional birth control as a backup. Condoms could break…Grell’s condition was proof of that.

"I’m not gonna wear actual clothes to bed. That’s incredibly uncomfortable, Will. And you gave your spare PJ’s to Eric, so it’s boxers or nothing and the boxers are M.I.A." Ron shrugged.

William sighed again. The boy was just determined to tease him to the brink of sanity. “Fine, then get into bed and under the covers, while I keep my back turned. I shall join you once you’re settled in.”

"Can we still cuddle?" Ronald pouted, pulling away and slipping around in front of his boyfriend. He couldn’t help doing so. Even when he slept alone he often woke up cuddling his pillow or wadded blanket, but with someone sharing his bed, he’d awaken cuddling said person if they were still in bed once he finally awoke.

"Yes, of course." William kept his eyes shut so that he wouldn’t inadvertently let them wander the blond’s nudity and wind up in more of a state than he was already in. "Just tell me when you’re beneath the covers, and I shall join you."

"Love you, Will." Ron grinned, kissing his cheek and hurrying to hop into his side of the bed and slipping under the covers. "Okay, Sir Knoxwurst is out of sight and temptation~" he teased, "Come join me."

William opened his eyes and turned to do so, shutting off the lamp as he got into bed with the blond. He put his glasses aside as he slipped under the covers, and he pulled Ronald close to him. He was uncomfortably aware of how utterly naked Ronald was beneath the sheets as the blond cuddled up to him. Well, he would just have to control himself, wouldn’t he? He was a man, not a beast. The brunet stroked his companion’s back, sighing into his hair. He smelled nice…freshly shampooed and wearing some sort of aftershave or deodorant with sandalwood tones.

William kissed him lingeringly on the lips, resigning himself to the fact that his groin wasn’t going to behave itself, even if _he_ could. “Goodnight, Ronald,” he whispered against that tempting mouth. 

"Mmmm, night, Will." Ron snuggled up to William, arms and legs wrapping around the man’s body contently. "Oh! Glasses!" he pulled away to set his glasses aside before settling in again.

* * *

 

Eric dozed off waiting for his partner to return to their room, lying naked on the bed with his ankles crossed and his fingers laced together over his stomach. His blue-tinted glasses were lopsided on his face and his head was turned to the right, his wavy bangs falling half over his face.

Alan hurried back into his room and closed and locked the door. “Sorry…that was…more complicated than I assumed it’d be, but I have some rose oi—Eric?” Alan frowned. Eric had drifted off. Maybe the man needed the rest more than being intimate.  
  
He walked over to the bed and slipped in next to Eric, kissing his lips gently.

Eric stirred at the soft caress of lips against his own, and he mumbled and opened his eyes. Seeing Alan lying beside him, he smiled and straightened his glasses, stretching a bit.  
  
“Mmm, sorry I dozed on ya, sweetheart. Tha bed is jus’ so comfortable.” He pulled Alan close, his nude body pressing flush against the brunet’s—save the area below the waist, impeded by the baby bump. Eric chuckled, his half-softened endowments swelling to a fully erect state again. “Tha one time I’ve had ye was o’er five months ago, sexy. Have some faith in tha Slingby virility an’ greed.”  
  
He kissed along Alan’s jaw and he untied his robe and slipped his hand in, his calloused palm gently rubbing his belly in slow circles. “I’m a starved man in need o’ sustenance,” he purred, “an’ mah need fer sleep can wait.”

"You were shot by a bullet made of scythe material." Alan reminded, "Resting is understandable. I’m not saying I don’t want to do this with you, I’m just saying it’s okay if you want to wait a day or two more."

Eric kept kissing him, his lips traveling over Alan’s throat as he parted his robe and rolled him onto his back. He wedged a strong thigh between Alan’s paler, leaner ones and he stroked upwards, running his hand over his chest. “Undertaker took care o’ it,” he insisted, “said as long as I dun’ overdo anything, it should close up in a week an’ tha stitches will dissolve. I feel fine, sweetheart. Jus’ a bit tired an’ sore. I want ya more than sleep, righ’ now.”

"Just don’t overdo yourself. Just like if this gets to be too much for me and the baby…if it’s too much for you we can stop and wait for later." Alan reassured, pulling him into a kiss to get things heated back up between the two of them.

Eric’s tongue danced against Alan’s and a purr rumbled in his throat. He might not last as long this time as he had their first, due to his body’s need for rest and recovery, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He predicted he’d be too afraid of hurting the baby to do this once Alan got heavier, so he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity while they still could. He rubbed his thumb over one of the brunet’s nipples and he smiled when Alan shivered in response. Kissing his way from his lips down to his chest, he took the other nipple between his lips and teased it with his tongue, while his hand glided lower.

"I won’t get rough," he promised between licks, nibbles and kisses. "Both for yer sake an’ fer mah own. I jus’ want tae feel ye again, love."

Alan’s heart sped up and beat so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if Eric could hear it. But he wanted to make sure, one last time, that this was for real. “You aren’t going to leave again?” he asked, “You’ll stay by my side from now on?” Even as he asked, his fingertips ran down along Eric’s side and over his hip.

"I’ll ne’er leave ya of mah own free will again," promised Eric, pausing his loving attentions to look up Alan’s body and meet his eyes, "an’ I’ll stay by yer side from here on out. I’ll swear it in blood, if ye want me too."

"You don’t have to go that far!" Alan insisted, putting his hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "I just…wanted to hear you promise it this time. I want to know that you’ll still be here when I wake up."

"I’ll be here when ye wake up in tha mornin’," promised the Scotsman, amused by Alan’s horror at the thought of him swearing in blood, "an’ tha mornin’ after tha’…" he kissed his belly, slowly working his way down…"an’ tha mornin’ after tha’, too." he kissed his hip, and he stroked the underside of Alan’s length with the pads of his fingers, petting it teasingly before blowing on it.

"I’ll be here every mornin’ from now ‘till tha day we die, if I’ve anythin’ tae say abou’ it." Eric sealed the promise with a kiss on the tip of Alan’s arousal, licking the salty hole in the tip as if to punctuate.

"Gh—!" Alan’s response was quickly cut off, his head falling back against the pillows and his hips raising off the bed slightly, "Eric…feels good," he groaned. Why was it he always ended up like putty in the Scotsman’s hands? All reasonable thought flying out of his mind and replaced with the need of physical touch.  
  
_~Because I love him.~_

It was the only answer, and he knew it.

Eric deftly reached for the bottle of oil that his partner managed to procure from Ronald, and he opened it while he distracted him with his mouth. His lips slid down the length of Alan’s shaft, his tongue massaging the taut flesh as he went. He hummed as if it were a delicious treat—which to him, it really was—and he dribbled some of the oil onto his fingers. He worked on getting himself ready first, not wanting to go for the goal with Alan too hastily. He groaned as he slicked the oil over his erection, reminding himself not to play too long. As he did that, he fondled Alan’s balls with his other hand, putting aside the oil for a moment. His mouth moved up and down the flushed cock he was servicing, his head tilting at different angles to treat all sides to the feel of his tongue against it.

He slowed the motions of his mouth when he noticed Alan’s toes curling, and he smiled around the girth of his sex.

_~No’ jus’ yet, bonny lad.~_

Changing his tactics to simply holding him in his mouth and sucking gently, Eric stopped massaging the sack and he dribbled more oil on his fingers. Satisfied that it was enough, he rubbed some of it into the puckered flesh surrounding his goal, and when it relaxed a bit, he resumed bobbing his head as he slipped one finger in.

Alan gasped and groaned again, moving to twist his body, though his belly restricted his motions, leaving him trapped on his back and under Eric’s skilled mercy. He reached down, fingers tangling into long, wavy blond locks. His knees bending, he let out another moan. “Eric—that m-mouth! Nngh, fingers… Hhh…B-better than I remember!” his member twitched in his lover’s mouth.

Eric kept it up, more than happy to give him release before seeking his own. He took him down his throat and made swallowing motions, messaging his length in full as he paid merciless attention to that special area inside of him, fingers curling and stroking with each thrust as he added a second one. He rubbed his belly with his free hand, soothing him even as he worked to bring him to completion.

"Mmmm…" he purred around the rigid length he was pleasuring. Like Alan, he realized that the memory of doing this was somewhat pale in comparison to the reality.

"Eric…I…please, I want you!" Alan gasped, feeling his confidence grow as they enjoyed each other’s bodies. This had been his dream for so long, and now it seemed to be coming true. Eric was by his side, he was staying there, and he was wanting to be the father to their baby. It was perfect and he just wanted to show Eric how happy his being there made him. Seizing Eric’s free hand, he brought it up to his lips and he kissed his fingers.

Eric had never heard sweeter words than that. He was near bursting with need himself, and he thought Alan was ready enough for him. He gently pulled his hand away from Alan’s so that he could sit back on his ankles, and he withdrew his fingers from inside of him. Grasping his lover’s pale hips, he pulled Alan closer to him, sliding him down on the bed. He parted the brunet’s thighs wide, and his eyes blazed down at him intensively as he positioned himself.

"A’right lover…here I come."

He cupped Alan’s hips to angle them as he rocked into him, easing the head of his length into the smaller reaper’s waiting heat. Eric groaned at the tightness and he paused, even more cautious now than he’d been their first time.

Alan stiffened slightly and he let out a slow breath.  
  
_~Just breathe…relax,~_ he told himself, and slowly, he found he was able to do so and open his eyes, looking longingly up at Eric as he awaited for his body to adjust. Once it had, he nodded. “I’m…ready for you to move like last time,” he whispered.

Eric smiled at him, glad to see he was a bit more confident this time. He eased in further slowly, a half inch at a time with brief pauses, until he was able to fit his entire length in. Alan was tight and clenching a little around him, but he wasn’t slightly panicked like before. “How’s tha’, sweetheart? Need more time?” He was breathing heavily, his body urging him to move. He would not do it until he got the nod from his lover.

"Just…a moment." Alan breathed, "Hold me while you wait?"  
  
A soft smile stretched his lips when his lover complied, gently holding him and giving him soft kisses of comfort. This was enough for him. if they stayed like this forever, it’d be enough. And Alan waited a few moments longer than he needed before giving the okay.

It was a bit awkward to bend over in this position and hold Alan without putting weight on his belly, but Eric complied. His healing injury burned as his back muscles stretched for him to bow over his supine lover, and still he slipped his arms beneath Alan’s shoulders and held him. He grunted a little in discomfort and kissed the brunet’s cheek. The pleasure of being inside of him made up for the pain of the arched position he was in.

"Cannae tell ya how I’ve longed fer this again," sighed Eric.

He felt something…pop…or tear…and he clenched his teeth, his breath catching.

Alan frowned, feeling Eric tense up, “Are you alright?” he asked, a hint of his worry in his tone. He wasn’t having second thoughts, was he?

“‘m fine,” lied the Scotsman, biting his lip. He forced a smile at his lover. “Jus’ a little sore where tha bullet…went in…”

The pain was spreading and he started to soften within his companion, trembling.

_~No, damn it! We’ve been apart fer too long! Cannae ruin tha moment now!~_

"If you are sure…wait—?" Alan ran his hand down Eric’s back, his fingers finding a warm wetness that shouldn’t be there. Withdrawing his hand, he looked at it, his eyes widening as he gasped.  
  
“You’re bleeding!” Feeling guilt over having caused Eric to rip his stitches, the brunet pulled himself out from beneath his lover and scrambled to look at the damage. “Oh no…hold still!”  
  
The stitches had ripped out and stuck up at odd angles around the wound, which looked worse than before. Alan grabbed the nearly empty box of tissues that he kept on his side table, pulling out a few to press to the wound. “Hold this and keep pressure on it!” he demanded, “I’ll go get help!”

"A-Alan…wait," gasped Eric, but his lover was already out the door—and he was buck-naked. Eric didn’t really care about his own nudity, but he reckoned he should at least try to cover up. Awkwardly pressing the tissues against his left back side, he struggled to get his borrowed pajama pants on with one hand.

It was a terrible situation, but he couldn’t help but smirk a little at the thought of shy little Alan running down the halls without a stitch of clothing on, and all because he was worried about him.

"He _does_ love me.”

* * *

 

William had just dozed off to sleep when he heard Alan’s frantic knocking on his and Ronald’s door. “Oh hell, _now_ what?” complained the former supervisor, sitting up.

He clicked on the lamp and reached for his glasses, before going to the door. When he opened it and found Alan Humphries wide-eyed and quite nude on the other side, he blinked. Something must be terribly wrong for him to go out in the open in such a state. William cleared his throat and ushered the smaller reaper inside, hastily grabbing his robe to sling it around him.

"What is the issue, Humphries?"

"Eric ripped his stitches!" Alan panicked, completely unaware that he was standing out in the open hall in front of his former boss, completely naked. 

"And I wonder how that happened," responded the brunet dryly as he tugged his robe closed around Alan to provide him some coverage. "Just wait here, and I’ll fetch one of our medical students. Knox, wake up. We have a bit of an emergency to deal with and considering how things went the last time Slingby’s injuries were tended, we may need your help."

Alan blinked, confused about the robe—until he looked down and realized he’d not slipped back on his pajamas. His face turned scarlet and had he not been so worried over Eric, he would have found some hole to crawl into and die from embarrassment.  
  
Ronald groaned, “But I only just started falling asleep! Tell him no offence, but I love sleep more than him!”

"No arguments," snapped William, flipping the overhead light switch on. "We cannot afford to lose even one of us—particularly not one amongst the skilled when it comes to combat! Humphries, make sure he gets up, whilst I fetch our medics."

"I’m dating the devil in disguise," Ronald groaned, pushing his head under the pillow to escape the light.  
  
“Ronald, please.” Alan begged.  
  
The blond sighed and peeked out at him, “Bloody hell…fine. But next time you break your boyfriend, I’m not helping to put him back together!”  
  
“Thank you.”

* * *

 

"Mr. Slingby, are you decent?"

Recognizing William’s voice on the other side of the door, Eric lifted his sweating head off the pillow and checked to make sure his pajama bottoms were pulled up all the way. “I’m dressed, but never ‘decent’,” he joked.

He thought he heard a sigh, and then the door opened to admit Spears and both of their medics. One was male, the other female…and their skills in medicine only went as far as basic extraction and minor surgical procedures. Scythe wounds were a bit more advanced to treat.

"Hello Mr. Slingby," greeted the blond woman with a smile, her shoulder-length, blond bob bouncing a bit as she hurried to the bed. Her brunet male companion carried the supplies in and he opened the medical bag to begin assisting her. "Here, let go of the tissues so we can have a look, okay?" coaxed the woman. Jenna, he believed her name was.

Eric panted softly and grimaced as he released the tissues and folded both arms under his pillow. “That’s it,” she encouraged gently. “Now, let’s just see what we’re…oh. Um…Kyle?”

The male medic looked, and Eric turned his head to see him wince. “Wha’? I couldnae done _tha’_ much damage,” protested the Scotsman.

"Well sir, it appears you’ve popped at least three of your stitches…and we haven’t the proper suturing thread to close the wound."

"Why not use normal thread then?" suggested William with a raised brow. Ronald and Alan came in at that moment. "Isn’t normal sutures better than leaving it gaping?"

“ _Gaping_?” repeated Eric, trying to rise.

"Mr. Slingby, please stay down and relax," chastised Jenna. "Kyle was exaggerating, but the trouble is, the wound won’t heal without soul thread…and we unfortunately haven’t been able to get any. We can stitch you up to close it and we _do_ have ointment that minimizes scarring, but without those sutures, I’m afraid you’ll have to be stitched up indefinitely…and they could break and put you right into the same boat.”

"The soul thread is made to dissolve over time as the wound closes," explained Kyle, "and as it dissolves, it replenishes the cellular regeneration that gets destroyed from a death scythe wound."

"Th-then stitch me up," demanded Eric, "an’ I’ll jus’ have tae manage, won’t I?"

He groaned and jerked as Jenna began to clean the blood away and put fresh gauze on it, bucking in spite of himself.

William went to his bedside to hold him down, and he called out for Ronald to help. “Stop thrashing around like a beast, Slingby,” demanded Spears.

"I’ll hold him down. Eric, no biting or hitting this time!" Ronald said, slipping in passed William dressed in his robe and climbing onto the large bed to push Eric down to hold him still.

Eric wasn’t deliberately trying to fight them, but his instinctive reaction to being restrained was difficult to resist…and even weakened, he was a physically strong specimen. “Damn it, Slingby! Hold still!” shouted William as the gauze they’d pressed down on him began to soak through with fresh blood. When Jenna gave him a worried look, he snapped: “What is it?”

"Sir, I’m sorry, but I really think he needs more than what we can give him, here."

William sighed and bowed his head. “Humphries, please come over here and talk to your partner. Keep him calm so that the medics can do what they can for him. I shall attempt to reach the Undertaker and see if he can come and assist us. Slingby shouldn’t be traveling through portals in this condition, so we can’t risk bringing him to the mortician.”

"Eric, please calm down. We are only trying to help." The brunet stroked the blond’s hair, "You don’t want to make it worse, do you?"  
  
Alan pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’m sorry you are in pain again.”  
  
“Who’s idea was it to get so active so soon, anyway?” Ron asked, making Alan flush.

"Mine," Eric immediately sad, unwilling to let anyone judge his lover. "Y-ya know wha’ a lech I can be, Ronnie."

William shook his head in disgust and left the room, retrieving his phone from his pocket in the process. “Disgraceful idiot.”

"Idiot. I didn’t give you two that oil so you can rip yourself and interrupt my snuggle time with Will." Ronald muttered, flicking Eric’s forehead.  
  
“I could have told him no, Ron.” Alan pointed out, “I wanted it, too. This is just as much my fault, and I’m sorry.”

"Let’s just concentrate on containing the damage until Master Undertaker can get here," suggested the female medic with an amused smirk at her partner. "Mr. Slingby, I’m afraid these broken stitches will have to come out. Can you try and be still for me while I extract them?"

Eric nodded and held his breath, fighting down his instinctive responses to being prodded and poked. “Try tae make it fast.”

* * *

 

Undertaker grumbled as he got off the phone, but he went and fetched his medical bag. “Lovely. Running to the li’l refugees’ aid again already.” He sighed as he packed away what he needed, scouring his supply shelves in his upper laboratory. “But It’d be a shame to let Slingby die after the trouble we went through to save his fool hide.”

He finished getting what he needed and he made sure all entries to the shop and his hidden levels were secured, before creating a portal and stepping through it. As soon as he came out on the other side, the first sight to greet him was Grell. The redhead was sitting on a bench under the covered gazebo, just a few feet away from the steps leading up to the main entry of the retreat. He was reading something—a romance novel, perhaps. Undertaker froze and stared at him, admiring him even though he could see little more than a blur at this distance, with no spectacles to correct his sight. There was no mistaking that hair, or the creamy skin.

He tried to think of how far along Grell must be now. Eight weeks? Nine? He would begin showing soon. The redhead looked up and saw him, perhaps smelling the aroma of the incense that clung to him and recognizing it. Undertaker impulsively smiled at him, though he very much doubted it would be returned. He couldn’t tell from this distance, and his footsteps carried him closer to the crimson reaper’s location against his better judgment.

_~Better judgment. Can’t say I’ve had any of that for yonks.~_

Grell’s eyes narrowed venomously as the silver reaper approached. Just why in Styx would Undertaker dare visit him after what he’d done? Pushing him off onto others as if he’d been absolutely nothing to him the entire Hades-damned time! Maybe at first it had meant nothing. It wasn’t supposed to…but they had grown closer, begun a real relationship—or so the red reaper had thought. Turned out that the old reaper had only been using him! And as soon as he found out that they had created a tiny little soul together—gone. _'See ya, Grell, you're on your own with the little death-spawn I put in you_ ~’ as if it was all some big joke…as if Grell’s emotions had been a fun joke to play with. A game.  
  
“Tck.”  
  
The red reaper straitened up and snapped his book shut, half slamming it down on the railing. “What in Hell’s frigid tit are you doing here?” he hissed, taking a strong stance and placing his hands on his hips. It was clear he was in no mood for nonsense.

The mortician checked a sigh. He’d been told that Grell had become bitter since he sent him away. He noticed the redhead was already starting to show and he did some math in his head.

_~Oh, right. He must have been ‘round eight weeks along when he revealed it to me. That would put him at about…twelve weeks, now? Been near a month since I sent him away. I don’t know why my poor head seemed t’ think time wasn’t moving for him.~_

And he had the most unexpected urge to reach out and lay his hand over Grell’s belly—but even a reaper as impulsive and generally fearless as himself knew better. The look in Grell’s eyes suggested he might try to bite of any part of Undertaker that came too close. The volatile redhead wasn’t likely to accept any reminders that he _had_ to send him away for his own safety as a valid excuse. Much like Eric had done to Alan, Undertaker had sent his lover away without going with him, leaving him to deal with an unplanned pregnancy on his own. The difference was that the Scotsman was now there with the mother of his child, stepping up to the plate, and Undertaker was not.

When Grell made another impatience sound, it occurred to the mortician that he was still standing there, staring at his belly with his medical bag in clutched in one hand and a book back clutched in the other. “Ah, right. Well, I’m here t’ see to your stubborn Scottish friend’s injuries, love. Seems he tore the stitches I put in and you lot don’t have anything in the way of supplies to repair the damage. Figure I might as well give your medics a few lessons while I’m here and leave ‘em with some reading material, so they can better serve your needs when someone gets injured or ill.”

He looked at the crimson reaper’s subtle little baby bump again. “And so they can give you and Mr. Humphries some proper prenatal care. You haven’t come in for a checkup, Grell. Fancy it or not, I worry.”

"Worry about what? That I’d go after you for child support? I don’t need you!" Grell snapped, feeling a lump forming in his throat.  
  
Lies, he spoke lies. He did need Undertaker—and he wanted him. But he wasn’t foolish enough to hope he’d get what he wanted. Eric and Alan were one thing. They were meant to be together, they were soul mates, even if it took them so long to realize it themselves. Everyone else had seen it. Them having an unplanned child together wouldn’t change their relationship, except for perhaps making them grow closer faster.  
  
But he and Undertaker? No. They’d never be like that, and how Undertaker reacted to their unborn child was proof enough. He half-way couldn’t blame the ancient, however. Grell was Grell, after all. He’d always said William was his soul mate. Ever since their exam together, it had been William his heart throbbed for. However, he wasn’t William’s soul mate and he’d known that for a long time. He had to make his own love, and he wasn’t very good at it. He tended to drive people away quickly when it came to anything more than friendship.  
  
But Undertaker had given him hope.  
  
Hope. Grell scoffed. What place did he have with hope? He was the Red Death! He didn’t need more than that.  
  
But he was still livid. Angry at the Silver Death for giving him hope and love, only to crush it like the butt of a cigar.  
  
Grell’s arms trembled as he held himself back from attacking the man. He was pregnant, after all, he couldn’t afford to put the baby at risk by provoking a fight, no matter how much he’d love the thrill of one.  

"I…" Undertaker felt the stirrings of angry impatience. "You…now listen here, temper-pot…I’ve already explained to you why I couldn’t hide you."

He held up a finger. “Too close t’ bloody London Dispatch…”

He held up a second finger. “Nowhere t’ keep a nipper, ‘less you think a basement’s a grand place to make a nursery and raise a baby…”

He held up a third finger. “I couldn’t come with ‘cause I’m still considered ‘neutral’ in this, and right now, you need someone watchin’ your backs and keeping an eyeball out on Dispatch’s movements.”

He held up a fourth finger, nearly poking himself in the eye with his nails as he waved his hand for emphasis. “And finally…” the mortician heaved a sigh and ran out of bluster, dropping his hand limply. He didn’t even realize he’d let go of his book bag to make the hand motions. “…I’d be a piss-poor excuse for a father.”

He peeked at Grell from under the cover of his silver bangs, suffering guilty feelings again that he just plain wasn’t used to. “I’m doing what I can to make sure you and the nipper are taken care of and safe, love. I really am. Never wanted to get involved in this mess t’all, but here I am.”

He gestured at the redhead wearily, his long sleeve flopping over his hand to hide it again. “But you’re not a bloomin’ angel in this either, dearie. You came ‘round with the intention of swaying me to their side, yeah? That was the original point of that first encounter, wasn’t it? Thought maybe you could seduce ol’ Undertaker…tempt him with that pretty face and body of yours, since all the other candy your former associates tossed at me failed to make me budge.”

Undertaker shrugged, even as Grell’s hurt expression made him want to kick himself. “It was just business, love. I knew it right away. Doesn’t mean I didn’t grow fond of you, ‘cause I did. I just never knew you’d gotten fond of me too, ‘till now.”

"It’s not that you sent me here!" Grell nearly yelled, "It’s not what you did, it’s what you _didn’t_ do! I don’t expect you to be like how Eric is to Alan. If I was just a fuck to you then fine, but you could have at least manned up! Like it or not, this,” he jabbed a red-tipped finger at his belly, “is _your_ baby! And yet you treated it like nothing more than garbage all because of the way our relationship had started! I tell you this; I’m not all that thrilled about being pregnant, but at least I can recognize that it’s my little baby death! That I have a responsibility to him, and that she needs her mother!” He marched over to Undertaker and gave him a firm shove, “You. Are. The. Worst!”

The ancient staggered back a step, accepting the punishment because in his heart, he felt he deserved it. “Smack me too, if it helps,” he offered, for once not smiling. “But best get it out of your system soon, darlin’. I’ve got a patient to look after and he could bleed out while we stand here jawin’ over what a shit father I am.”

"Then go! I didn’t stop you, you approached me. And for what purpose? To make sure I knew your position on this? I think it’s already quite clear—even William without his glasses could see it!"

For the first time in a great while, Undertaker felt weary. “I wanted to look at you, is all. Wanted to see for myself how you are.”

He picked up his book pack again and he started off, casting one last, lingering look at the redhead as he passed. “You look pretty. You ought to let me give you a checkup while I’m here, at least. You haven’t come in for one yet, and that’s not a good idea even if you’re taking the prenatal vitamins I’ve been sending.”

He could have tried to tell him that he wasn’t as oblivious as he thought. He could have tried to explain himself further. He didn’t know how to, though. He was afraid to get attached…afraid to get excited. There were reasons he’d chosen never to try and perpetuate his bloodline, but Grell didn’t need to hear about his personal fears, right now. He kept walking, ignoring the stares he got from the exiled residents of the resort as they spotted him in passing. He felt like they were judging him, but that was probably just curiosity.

"Where might I find Slingby?" he asked a familiar auburn-haired young reaper once he made it into the lobby. The young man had an armload of printed data and he nearly stumbled and dropped it, his cap falling forward to push his bangs over his eyes.

"Uh…upstairs," said the young reaper a little uncertainly, shooting Undertaker a nervous smile. "Here, I’ll just show you. My room’s just down the hall and I was on my way up there to work on this anyway."

Undertaker followed the young man—Alexander, he believed his name was—and he wondered if the fellow was always so jumpy.

"Right here," said Alex when they made it to the fourth room down the left corridor, and he knocked on the door and opened it to peek in. "Doc’s here!"

"I’m not a ‘doc’," protested Undertaker, "I’m a mortician."

Alex shrugged and pushed the door open more, one earbud falling loose from his ear to dangle. The tinny sound of whatever music he’d been listening to came through the dangling earpiece faintly. “You’re more of a doctor than anyone _else_ we’ve got here.”

Undertaker smirked. “Fair ‘nough, I s’pose. Thanks, lad. Carry on with…whatever odd thing you were doing.”

"See ya."

Just like that, Alex was gone and Undertaker walked in and shut the door behind him. William turned and gave him a formal bow of greeting. Ronald was sitting on one side of the bed, appearing as though he were ready to hold Eric down if he started struggling. Undertaker clucked his tongue at the sight of Eric’s trembling, sweating form on the bed, and the young woman looking after his wound blushed a little as the ancient approached.

"Sir," she greeted with a little bow. "We’ve done our best to temporarily suture it and stop the bleeding." She stepped aside as he approached, making room for him and revealing Alan squatting at the head of the bed holding Eric’s hand supportively.

"Hmm, let’s have a peek, then." Undertaker set his medical bag on the bed, and the book bag on the floor. He opened the medical bag and procured a pair of wire-framed glasses—human manufactured spectacles that aided his vision enough for him to get a clear view of delicate tasks close up.

"Just what were you doin’ to make these snap, lad?" queried the mortician as he turned the lamp that the two medics were using for light to get a better look at it. He reached up and back to pull his hair into a tail and he twisted it around until it was in a bun. That finished, he reached into his robe pocket for a pair of plain metal pins and he jabbed them both into his bun to hold it into place.

"I was…er…we were…" Eric flushed as much as his pallor would allow him to, glancing at his partner—who blushed much deeper.

"Never mind," chuckled the mortician. "I can guess. Well, they didn’t do a bad job stitching you up and stopping the bleeding, but I’m going to have to extract these temporary stitches and put new soul stitches in. I’ll numb you up a bit first, though."

He nodded at Alan. “You can stay in here with us while I do it, li’l chap. The rest of you clear out. Find out who’s a match for Mr. Slingby’s blood type too, while you’re at it. I get the feelin’ he’ll need a transfusion.”

"I wouldn’t go even if you had told me to," muttered Alan. "I want to help, and…this is partially my fault." he stroked his lover’s hair.  
  
“Are you saying I don’t need to hold him down this time? That I could have stayed in bed?” Ronald pouted with a groan, “Fine! I’m going back to bed!”

"Oh, don’t be sore about it, Ronnie," chuckled Undertaker. "I’m sure they needed your assistance earlier. By now though, I think our Gaelic friend is too tuckered out to put up much of a fight, and he’s not delirious this time, to boot. I’m sure Alan can keep him in line whilst I patch him back up again."

"S-sorry, Ronnie," muttered Eric into the pillow, shivering.

"William! We’re getting back into bed for snuggles and sleep." Ron yawned, grabbing Will’s wrist and pulling him along with him whilst ignoring the man’s protests.  
  
Finally alone with Eric and Undertaker, Alan relaxed a little more. He was still in William’s robes, and quite naked underneath. It was more comfortable with less people around, and Undertaker had seen him nearly naked quite a few times in order for his pregnancy checkups.  
  
“Thank you for coming over here so late, sir.” The polite brunet nodded at Undertaker.

The mortician smirked dryly and measured out a dose of local anesthetic for Eric. “I’m starting to get used to it, truth be told. Couldn’t very well let the man bleed out though, could I? Now hold still, Mr. Slingby. This’ll sting a bit, but you’ll thank me for it when your wound goes numb.”

Eric compliantly lay as still as he could—though his body was wracked with shivers. He couldn’t understand it, because he felt like he was burning up. Why was he shaking so much?

"It’s become infected," remarked the Undertaker as he began to inject around the wound. "Not to terribly severe yet, but I think you’ll need a shot of antibiotics too, in order t’ keep it from getting worse."

He finished up and he capped the needle of the syringe, before replacing it. “Now then, let’s give it another good cleaning before I close it up once more. Word to the wise, chaps; if you’re gonna play, don’t use positions that strain his back or side muscles, yeah? Can’t say I blame either of you for wanting to answer nature’s call after being apart for so long, but go easy on it.”

Eric flushed a little again. “Aye.”

Alan was also flushed, “We didn’t get that far…it happened when he hugged me.” he admitted in a small voice. It was because of his belly, he was sure of it. He hadn’t thought that a hug while in that position would strain Eric’s back and cause his stitches to rip because of the added buffer between them. He shouldn’t have asked him to hug him like that.

Undertaker chuckled. “Well from now on, no bending over or to the sides, and if you fellas are going to do the deed, have a bit of care. I don’t fancy coming back here every day to stitch him up ‘cause he got too frisky.”

He got to work then, thoroughly cleaning the wound and filling it with a medicinal powder especially for the aid in healing such injuries and staving off infections. He then made sure all the old stitching was out, before suturing it up again with some fresh. This time, he gave him twice as many stitches and he applied the same ointment that the medics had used earlier, once he was finished. He surveyed his handiwork critically and gave a nod.

"Right then, now for a dose of antibiotics to the bum. Alan, care to do the honors or shall I? He’s your man, after all."

"N-now wait," protested Eric, "Alan doesnae have medical training!"

"…I’ve had a little." Alan said, "Before they developed my meds as pills, I had to have injections for it. They taught me how to do so correctly so I didn’t have to go into the hospital every day for it. I can give you the shot; or is it that you don’t want your hormonal pregnant boyfriend sticking you in the butt in any way?" he joked lightly.

"Just dun’ want someone comin’ at me wi’ a needle unless they know how tae use it, smarty-pants," grumbled Eric. He lifted his head a little to look at him with pained, bright eyes. "But if ye say ye can do it, then I trust ya."

Undertaker smirked and patted the Scotsman’s shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” He measured out a fresh syringe, and he handed it over to Alan, along with a sterile wipe for the site of the shot. “I think it’s a good idea for all of you to learn at least some basics, under your circumstances. Mayhap Alan here could help with medical matters when he’s too far along to get involved in any fighting.”

"Are ya gonna turn yer back, auld man?" Eric asked as his lover started to tug down the sheets to expose his rump.

Undertaker shrugged. “I’ve seen it before, chap…but if you’re feeling shy, I s’pose I can turn around.” Chuckling softly with amusement, he turned his back on them and waited.

"Be gentle wi’ me," pleaded Eric nervously as his partner prepared to stick him. He trusted Alan to get the job done, but he wasn’t sure how skilled he was at it and he’d already had a bad experience with a nurse jabbing him right in the hip bone once before. Alan had been there in fact, and he’d latter teased him about scaring half the staff out of the building with his vocal outrage.

Alan cleaned a small spot on Eric’s bum with the wipe, and readied the needle, “Don’t worry so much. It’ll only last a few seconds,” he soothed as he gently inserted the needle and injected him with it. He then withdrew it and used another cloth to wipe away the bead of blood that formed. “There, all done.”

Eric grimaced at the brief sting, but it was more from the thickness of the medication injected into him than the needle itself. In fact, he’d only felt a little pinch. “Yer givin’ me all mah shots from now on, Al.”

"I take that to mean he did a good job," guessed the Undertaker, turning around with a grin. "Whoops, I see your bum."

Eric hastily reached down to tug the sheets back up. “What else do ye plan tae do, Undertaker?”

"Like I said; you need a blood transfusion, but your medics can take care of that. Alan, see to it they get these books. I’m also going to leave some proper suturing line and medical supplies for scythe wounds behind just in case. It seems your medics already know how to stitch a wound, but without the right thread in the case of scythes, that won’t do ‘em much good."

Alan nodded, “I’ll make sure they get them, Thank you.” Alan stood up, making sure the robe was closed securely around him as he saw the man to the door. “Have you seen Grell?”

Undertaker bowed his head and nodded, looking oddly lost for someone who’d lived for so long. “Briefly. Just long enough for him to bless me out on the way in.” He clutched his medical bag to his chest, absently taking comfort in it like it was a teddy bear. “I’d like to give him a prenatal checkup before I go, but I doubt he’ll be keen on the idea.”

"He needs one. There is only so much we can do here. I try to help him as much as I can, but…I can’t give him a full checkup like he needs; like what you give me every few weeks when I’m due for one." Alan placed his hand on his belly, "I’m afraid of what may happen if he doesn’t start going to you for at least checkups. Don’t get me wrong, you hurt him—a lot—but this is something he and the baby needs. It’s more important than your personal relationship right now."

Undertaker sighed and nodded. “Brought some things to do it with, too. I’ll try to talk him into it, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”  
  
He laid a pale hand over Alan’s tummy and smiled. “You’re a much better patient. You just take care of yourself, your nipper and that big lummox of a partner, hear? I’ll find some way t’ convince Grell to let me have a gander.”  
  
He let his hair down and he put the pins that were holding it in a pocket, along with his glasses. He plucked his hat off the dresser where he’d set it and he put it back on. Tipping it in farewell, he left the couple alone together and braced himself for another confrontation with Grell.

* * *

-To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

"I don’t want to!" Grell hissed at the male medical student that had joined their ranks, "I can get along just fine without him!"  
  
The medical student sighed, looking at the angry redhead who stood in the doorway to his private room where he’d locked himself into after his run-in with Undertaker.  
  
“Please, Miss Sutcliff, it’s for the baby’s own good. Ask the man to just take a look to make sure things are going well before he goes. We do what we can, but we haven’t had any training in childbirth.”  
  
“He’s a horrible, selfish man that I want nothing more to do with!”  
  
“You have been having unexplained pains that Mister Humphries never had had with his pregnancy at your stage,” the medic pointed out.

Undertaker overheard that last part as he approached the room he was directed to by one of the other residents. He frowned with concern in spite of himself, before schooling his features into the usual grinning countenance.  
  
“‘Scuse me,” he said to the medic, startling the poor lad so badly he jumped, “but I’d like to have a private word with the lady. You don’t mind now, do you?”  
  
“N-no , of course not, sir,” agreed the medic, and he hastily retreated as the mortician stepped through the door and shut it behind him.  
  
“Well then, here we are,” stated Undertaker, removing his hat again. He hung it on the bedpost and set his bag down, patting the mattress insistently. “Have a seat so I can have a look at you, love. Tell me about these ‘pains’ you’ve been having.”

Grell ‘harrumphed’ and crossed his arms, “They are just cramps and bad back aches. Nothing to worry over. Started three days ago.”

"I’ll be the judge of whether they’re ‘nothing to worry over’," said the Undertaker sternly. "Now hop up so I can be sure. If you want the nipper t’ make it safely to birth, you’d best let me do what I can to ensure that."

He opened his bag and retrieved his hair pins, sticking them between his teeth to hold them while he reached back and up to wind his hair up again—save for the single long braid that he left dangling. “Dunno why I bothered taking it down,” he muttered around the plain metal sticks in his mouth.

He jabbed them through the bun one at a time to keep them there, and he retrieved his glasses from the other pocket. Slipping them on, he brushed his bangs out of his eyes and patted the bed again, gazing at Grell insistently. “Come on then. This is best for you and the baby.”

Grell’s cheeks heated. Damn it, why did the Undertaker have to look so attractive with his hair up? He was supposed to be mad at the man! He liked being angry with him—he had the right to be!  
  
With a sigh, he moved over and firmly sat down, maintaining his look of disapproval at the older reaper as he did so.

Undertaker deftly unbuttoned the bottom of Grell’s shirt. “Just try to relax,” he murmured. He caught the scent of that perfume the redhead liked to wear so much and it immediately made him recall memories of passionate nights with him. He mouth twitched briefly as he pushed those thoughts aside. Once Grell’s tummy was exposed, Undertaker reached blindly for his stethoscope. He had to dig for it because for some reason or another, he couldn’t tear his eyes off the gently rounding evidence of the result of their passion. He found it…cute.

He looked away and located the instrument he was after. “Alan tells me you’ve been eating properly, at least,” he said conversationally as he fit the ear peaces in. He met Grell’s eyes again as he huffed on the drum to warm the stethoscope. “Any other odd pains or symptoms you’d like to mention, love? Dizziness, fatigue, breathing troubles and the like?”

"I’m not going to starve myself and my baby just because the father is a complete asshole!" Grell snapped. "Of course I’m eating right and taking care of myself. I just don’t see why I need to go to _you_ for checkups.”

The mortician checked a sigh. “Because asshole or not, I’m the only one you’ve got with the experience to give you the proper care. Until you lot manage to get a real doctor in your ranks, I’m afraid you’re stuck with ol’ Undertaker. Now answer the bloody questions I asked.”

He was getting frustrated. Grell’s words stung more than they rightfully should. He knew he could be doing more to show he cared. Slingby certainly never left any questions about that, even before he knew he was going to be a father. But Eric was also here now, at his lover’s side, sharing the experience with him. Undertaker was only here for an emergency call. Maybe he should start sending things for the baby.

"No, just cramps and back pains." Grell huffed, turning his head away. "Everything else Alan said was normal…that he had gone through it as well."

Undertaker nodded and he slipped the stethoscope into it the opening of Grell’s shirt to listen to his heart. Satisfied that everything sounded good there, he moved it lower over his chest. He instructed Grell to take a deep, slow breath and then he had him bend forward so that he could tug the shirt up in the back to listen to his lungs from behind. Without meaning to, he caressed the redhead’s spine before removing the instrument and tugging his shirt back down.

"Heart and lungs sound good," announced the ancient. He sat down beside Grell on the bed, put one arm around him for support and he pressed the stethoscope against his belly. He heard Grell’s stomach growl and he made a mental note not to keep him for too much longer. He was just about to pull the stethoscope away when he heard a "thump" that definitely did not come from Grell’s heart. The redhead gasped softly, and Undertaker grinned with the realization that this must be the first time the baby kicked strongly enough to be felt.

"Felt that, did you?" guessed the mortician, glancing at his ex-lover’s surprised, fair face. "Maybe it’ll do it again. Shh."

Grell had quickly shut up his persistent displeasure of Undertaker being there, staring wide-eyed down at his belly. Slowly, he lifted his hand, pressing it to his baby bump, finger tips brushing up against Undertaker’s hand.

Undertaker’s grin took to his ears as he heard the faint thump again. The movement was so subtle that he might not have noticed it, had he not heard it with the instrument as well. He looked at Grell again and he took the ear pieces of his stethoscope out and wiped them off, before putting them on the redhead.

"Here, have a listen," he offered, putting the drum back over the spot where he’d had it before. He watched Grell’s face and waited for his reaction, unable to stop smiling.

_~Real. It’s real, this time. Bloody hell, of_ course _it’s real, you silly old fool! You sensed it when he first told you!~_

But even then, a part of him was reluctant to believe it. He’d been tricked once before in his life by a reaper that only wanted to entrap him, back before he’d retired. Undertaker had made quite a name for himself by then, having lived and reaped for longer than any other Shinigami in Dispatch save Lawrence Anderson. Lawrence had been retired from field work by then, preferring to serve the organization by making spectacles after perfecting the methods of crafting them.

Back then, Undertaker went simply by the title of ‘Death’ to reapers, and various deity names to mortals. Over the centuries they had woven their mythology around him and other supernatural beings. To them, he was Khronos, Odin, Olam, Aion, Ankou, Anubis…and even Merlin. Of all the mortal names for him, he’d always liked Khronos and Odin the best. It tickled him that two of his ravens made it into the mythos as well. Whether the mortals mistook him for these gods or dreamed up their mythology around encounters with him, he’d never put much thought into. For him, the divine was simply the divine, and he’d never met any individual deities in his long life to prove or disprove mortal theology.

Thinking on this brought his mind back to the treachery that started him on his path to learning reaper and mortal biology, and ultimately paved the way for him to retire and become the Undertaker. He couldn’t even recall the woman’s name, but she’d been a real beauty. Her hair had been as bright and flowing red as Grell’s—which he supposed was why a part of him couldn’t fully believe this pregnancy was real. She’d seduced him…sought him out as much for his fame as for an attraction to him. She’d told him she was carrying his child and he’d believed her, only to discover months later that it was a lie. He’d caught her binding stuffing into her garments to make it appear she was getting bigger with child.

That betrayal and the disappointment that went along with it convinced him never to even try to reproduce again, and up until Grell, he’d only had relations with mortal lovers—whom he was not reproductively compatible with—from that day since. Touch and go, it had always been. They were curious about him, and he obliged them for the sake of scratching an itch.

But now he’d impregnated a reaper…and he could no longer deny with any part of himself that it was real. He smiled again at the look of wonder that crossed Grell’s pretty face, and he sat down beside him to enjoy his amazement.

_~Wish I could tell you,~_ he thought silently to the redhead. _~Wish I could explain, without you thinking it’s all just a rubbish excuse.~_

And he very much wanted to kiss Grell right now. His eyes softened on the younger reaper, expressing a tenderness that few in life ever saw. Plenty of mortal nippers had seen it in death, of course; he’d always been gentle with the children.

Grell couldn’t help it, as much as he liked being angry at Undertaker and as much as he had the right to be, he felt it all melt away in that moment. His baby was kicking. As early as it seemed, he or she was actually kicking! Letting him know that he was more than just a fat belly and increased appetite. She was alive.  
  
Grell’s grin widened and before he could catch himself, he glanced up at Undertaker with that smile, sharing the moment with him as if he hadn’t been rejected.

The mortician swallowed, his smile fading just a bit. “You look absolutely radiant, right now.”

He wasn’t paying lip service, either. Grell seemed to light up from the inside with that smile of wonderment on his shapely lips. Undertaker was sure that even those that found his dagger-like teeth intimidating would agree with him, if they saw Grell right now. The ache of regret made him sigh. He never should have told Grell it was ‘just business’. It never really had been, to the Undertaker. He knew the redhead started out with an ulterior motive and so he never expected it to amount to more than a fling…but he’d enjoyed every bit of it. Now they had this tiny being they’d created together and he could no longer pretend it wasn’t real.

In that moment, Grell wanted Undertaker to pull him into his arms. He wanted the elder to say he’d been wrong and that he wanted to be a part of this…to be in their child’s life. And for a moment, meeting Undertaker’s gaze, he thought it might happen. His heart skipped a hopeful beat as he waited, leaning in a little closer in anticipation.

"Grell," murmured the ancient, heart thudding in his chest. What was it about this reaper that could so easily tear down all of his defenses? He started to lean in, his lips nearly touching Grell’s, when there was a sudden knock on the door.

Undertaker swore softly. “What in bloody ‘ell _is_ it?” he groused, frustrated beyond belief.

William poked his head in. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, but I think I should impart some news that may be relevant to you, sir.”

The mortician sighed and gestured for him to come in. “Fine, then. What news might that be?”

William stepped in, flushing lightly. “I was just about to fall asleep when it occurred to me that you may be inadvertently leading the enemy to us.”

Undertaker frowned. “How’s that?”

William took a deep breath. “Well, I understand that you and Father Anderson were once colleagues. I do not know if you’ve been in contact with him—”

"Not for over a year," interrupted the ancient crossly, "though I’ve been toying with the idea of ringing him up and seeing where he stands in all this mess. Lawrence is a civilized gent…doesn’t much care for conflict and—"

"I’m sorry to say you cannot do that, sir," William interrupted, his tone slightly urgent, "for you see, imparting any information to him would give away our position. I’m afraid Father Anderson is dead."

Undertaker stared at him slack-mouthed. One silver lock fell over his left eye, and he didn’t even notice it. “Bullocks.”

"It’s true," insisted William. "I was too blinded by my work to realize it myself, but Sutcliff and Slingby can both confirm that he has been assassinated and replaced by an interloper wearing his face."

The mortician absorbed all of this, and he looked slowly at Grell. “Is there any truth t’ what he’s saying, love?”

Grell blinked and pulled his shirt closed around himself, nodding, “He’s been replaced by a look-alike. I don’t know how high in rank this new ‘Father Anderson’ is, but he was who Eric and I had to report to and received orders from. A lot of people have been replaced. They were going to replace Willy, too.”

Undertaker’s eyes took on a thunderous glow, flicking between William and Grell. “How long?”

William glanced at Grell, and he subtly moved to ready his scythe. “I cannot be certain. Sutcliff and Slingby reported it to us—”

Undertaker was suddenly up and in William’s face, his clenched teeth resembling nothing so much as a death’s grin. “And you saw fit to keep this from me?” His voice was low, cultured and frankly terrifying.

"I…did not know," excused William, "until quite recently. Sutcliff and Slingby knew, and they told us!"

Undertaker whirled on his ex-lover, and the maddened brightness remained in his eyes. “How. Long. Have. You. Known. This.”

He enunciated each word with the chill tone of death, staring into Grell’s eyes. This deceitful creature had seduced him…used him…then made him feel guilty in the end. And he was _still_ doing it to him…toying with him…dragging him into these wretched feelings, all the while knowing that his oldest friend was dead and replaced. He did not want to believe it, but by death, he was finished with being tricked.

"Answer carefully," said Undertaker in a low, dangerous voice.

A pole shot between him and Grell suddenly, and Undertaker looked up to see William standing there with his scythe extended as a barrier between the two of them. The normally stoic reaper’s hand trembled slightly as he righted his glasses and raised a brow at the mortician.

"Do not threaten my people, Undertaker. Ask your questions, but should you loom over him, I have no choice but to intervene."

"Oh, do you now?" Practically livid, the mortician stepped back again. "You’d both best tell me now, or this could get ugly."

"I…I thought you knew!" Grell defended himself, "You always— _always_ know way more than you should, so…I thought you knew people had been killed and replaced.” Grell stood up and took a step forward, putting his hands up in a show of peace, “I didn’t know he was so important to you.”

Undertaker forced himself to calm down. “He and I once worked together,” he explained. “Though we haven’t been in touch for a while, I’ve always counted the chap as a friend. I’m having trouble believing he went down so easily.”

"I am sure he did not fall ‘easily’," reasoned William, "but I don’t know the details; only that the man wearing his face and identity now has been in place for several months…and he apparently has a high management position with the organization that took over. It is entirely possible that the real Lawrence Anderson _is_ still alive, locked up somewhere. There is always the chance that Grell, Eric and any other Dispatch officers that contracted with the enemy were given false information to discourage any rescue attempts.”

Undertaker stroked his chin in thought. “Hmm, could be. If that’s the case, I’ve every intention of going in and getting him out. It looks as though I need to do a bit of digging to find out the truth of what happened to him.”

He looked between Grell and William, and he made a decision. “Well, congratulations. You just gained yourselves an Undertaker in your ranks.”

"Officially? Not that unofficial help you have been lending?" Grell asked, buttoning up his shirt again to help hide the baby bump as best he could at this stage of his pregnancy.

Undertaker shrugged. “I might as well be one of you anyway, with all I’ve been doing to spy on those wankers and keep your folk safe. This was the final straw for me, though. I’m not saying I’ll come live with you all just yet. They still think I’m neutral and we can use that to our advantage. As long as I can keep an eye on them with them being none the wiser, I’m still best off in London.”

William nodded. “Agreed, on that front.” He glanced at Grell meaningfully, before giving Undertaker a look that said he still had a greater responsibility to consider.

Undertaker followed his meaning. Now that his temper had cooled, he felt a bit of remorse for verbally attacking Grell, and for thinking such uncharitable things about him. The crimson reaper had done what he thought was necessary to survive in his precarious situation with the Revivalist movement—a name which Undertaker found laughable. Just _what_ were they trying to revive? Dispatch had never in the history of their race been so fascist. Yes, the organization had been stricter back in his day, but never so drastically.

"Could you give us a moment alone, chap?" he asked of William.

The brunet glanced at Grell, and then he nodded. “So long as you refrain from threatening him in any way, of course.”

He left the room then, closing the door behind him. Once they were alone again, Undertaker sighed and took a seat on the bed. “Sorry for snapping at you like that, my dear. It just came as a nasty bit of a shock.” He shrugged and turned his head to look at him. “I used to be better at socializing, if you can believe that. Once upon a time, I was a social butterfly. Now I can hardly say ‘good morning’ to someone without following up with a joke or trying to scare the dickens out of them.”

He hesitantly threw his figurative hat into the ring, abandoning the cockney accent he’d grown so used to speaking with. “I’m going to try and do better by you and the little one. Even if you don’t even want to look at me anymore, I can at least start sending you basic things like baby clothes, diapers, toys…that sort of thing. I can do more than send prenatal vitamins and give you checkups, if you’ll let me.” 

"Not if you are offering it out of guilt." Grell said, crossing his arms, "I don’t need your pity. If I need anything from you, it’s your genuine support and whatever comes with it. No half-assing anything!"

He marched over to Undertaker, making a point to click his heels loudly against the hardwood floors of his room. He reached out and hooked a finger under the man’s chin to force him to meet his gaze directly, silver fringe falling out of the mortician’s eyes. “Maybe at first it was simply business for me. I certainly hadn’t wanted to set foot in your shop at all, but not even I could pretend that it stayed that way. I may not know how strong it is but I…love you…”

The mortician’s mouth parted, his jaw going slack. “Yeah?”

He thought he must have heard him wrong and he tucked stray hair behind his ears. He cupped his hands behind them, a hopeful smile curving his lips. “Can you say that again, lovely? I think I might have misunderstood you.”

His heart had literally skipped a beat when he heard Grell say that—or _thought_ he heard him say that, anyhow. If only the flamboyant redhead knew how long he’d admired him from afar…how many times he’d fantasized about kissing him, before that day when he impulsively smooched him to throw him off guard.

Grell pulled back and placed his hands on his hips. “I’m sure you heard me! Reapers have seeing problems—not hearing!” He sighed and walked around to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “I never expected to get feelings for you, but I did and I began to hope for more…that we’d be serious and not simply ‘business’.”

Undertaker stared at him, and he decided it was time for a confession. “Long before I met you, I fell in love with another reaper…a woman. I thought she loved me back. She told me she was pregnant, and I believed her—because I didn’t have reason not to. I was awfully excited about becoming a daddy.”

He smiled, remembering how thrilled he was the day she told him the news. His smile faded and he sighed, bowing his head. His bangs fell forward over his eyes and his voice softened to a whisper. “But it was just a lie. Her love for me, our baby…it was all just a ruse on her part.”

His smirk was bitter as he raised his head and looked at Grell. “I found out it was an act when I caught her stuffing her clothes to make it look like she had a bump. I’d wondered why she didn’t like people touching her belly, and that answered that for me. It turned out she was in love with my reputation more than she was with me. She liked the status that came with it, I imagine, and I honestly thought I might be sterile after that because she did try very hard to conceive after telling me she was having my child. I ended things with her quickly when I realized she’d played me for a fool, and I banished her name from my memory. Couldn’t even tell you exactly what she looked like, in fact. Only that she was lovely, with red hair like yours.”

Undertaker hesitantly reached over to lay a hand over Grell’s abdomen. “That’s why I’ve been guarded. I didn’t want to face that sort of disappointment again. But it’s real. I don’t think it really _was_ real to me, before I heard the little one moving around in there…felt its little kicks. I had the notion I was just an assignment for you, too.”

He gazed into the redhead’s eyes, and he let free the final—and most dangerous—confession. “And I’ve wanted you almost since I first met you, Agent Sutcliff.”

"I’m not that woman!" Grell huffed, "And I couldn’t care less about your fame. I have made my own name for myself that I can use for attention if that’s what I wanted, I don’t need to ride shot-gun on someone else’s reputation. And _why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me!_ " he punctuated his last words with sharp pokes to Undertaker’s shoulder.

The mortician flinched a little, but he chuckled. His accent reverted back to the cockney. “‘Cause I’m a cowardly puss, I s’pose. Never imagined you’d respond well if I tried to romance you on a serious level, darlin’. You did make it rather clear when you came to me the first time that you were there on the behest of your new superiors, after all. Let’s try to be fair about this, eh?”

"I hated you then because of our last encounter! So what about before that? All those times we saw each other when I was hanging around with Sebas-chan and the brat?"

"Y’ seemed rather obsessed with the butler, truth be told." Undertaker shrugged. "And when you weren’t fawning on him it was Spears. I didn’t even consider you might consider me as a potential beau ‘till you made an off-hand remark that I was handsome, and by then I’d tossed you through glass. Whoops. There went my chance."

The mortician chuckled lightly and ran his nails over Grell’s arm in a sensual glide. “Sometimes with a bloke like me, you’ve gotta hit me right over the head with it. I’m a bit out of practice when it comes to courtships, after all.”

"I wanted to kill that butler. He’d look so beautiful laying in his own blood of pure red~" Grell gushed, hugging himself and wiggling excitedly at the idea, "I wanted to be the one responsible for that. I still do! Imagine! His handsome body sprawled out upon the ground, his blood running in thick little rivers between the cobblestone, chest ripped open and lips splattered in blood~ Oh, I could swoon! But I know my strengths. I couldn’t simply attack and expect to come out on top. I needed to wait for the perfect moment to strike! I flirted with him simply because he’s a handsome devil, and he hated it so. That gleam of annoyance in his ruby eyes was like a taste of his death~" Somewhere in his happy ranting, he’d gotten to his feet and spun around on his toes, his hair twirling around his frame.  
  
He sighed and looked at Undertaker then, calming slightly, “And I never had a chance with William. He made that quite clear. I got over him long ago, but by then it became our type of friendship that I flirt with him and he push me away. I enjoyed it, like a game. Though I have had dreams about him, still. But that’s as far as ‘romance’ would go between he and I. I was on the look-out for a real possibility, but I’m afraid I have a type with little wiggle room. Someone handsome who can hold his own in a fight. Someone equal to my own skills at least, so that I don’t have to constantly run to save them. Weaklings can be cute, but not in my bed.”

Undertaker chuckled, tickled at Grell’s animated description of Sebastian—even though it made an ugly feeling of jealousy twist inside of him. He felt a little better knowing that the pretty crimson reaper no longer seemed to entertain romantic thoughts for Michaelis _or_ Spears. “Good thing for me I’m no weakling, then.”

He cupped Grell’s chin, urging him to look into his eyes. “I’m not the world’s best at this sort of thing, love, but I’d like you to give me a chance. I can’t _live_ with you just yet, but I’m going to do my best to take care of you and the baby ‘till I can. When my well of information dries up and my use as a ‘double agent’ is gone, I’ll close up shop and come join you. I’ll come for checkups of course, and I’ll do my ruddy best to visit on weekends. What’s say we give it a shot, eh?”

Grell hesitated, then let out a sigh, holding up a single finger. “One last chance.” He gave up on his anger and let it melt away, “You still hurt me, so you have to earn back my full trust relationship-wise.”

He pulled away and walked over to the vanity sitting against the wall next to his wardrobe. He opened a drawer and shuffled through the things he kept there; a hairbrush, a small collection of makeup and finally, he pulled out the spare key to his room and approached Undertaker, holding out the golden key with a red ribbon hanging from it, “So you can come see me whenever you get the chance.”

Undertaker took the key with a sort of reverence that had him feeling faintly humiliated. He pocketed it and he stared into Grell’s eyes. How could he express what he felt? He couldn’t recall feeling it for any other living creature before, and he didn’t know if it was because of his lingering fascination with this unique creature or the fact that his young was growing inside of him.

"Right, so I’m going to kiss you now," he warned. "Is that going to end up with my face being clawed off?"

Grell gave a small chuckle, “Kitty just got her nails done.” he held up his hands to show off the fresh manicure, “Would be a waste to ruin them so soon.”

"Good, then." Undertaker put his arms around him and he lowered his mouth to the crimson reaper’s, kissing him chastely at first…but the moment their lips touched, his passion ignited and he held Grell closer and deepened it. His tongue pushed between the redhead’s lips to seek out the moist recesses of his mouth, eager for more. He’d missed him… _truly missed him_. Not that he wanted to jump his bones at a delicate time like this. The “Make-up sex” could possibly come later. Just the taste of Grell’s mouth against his was enough to quicken Undertaker’s pulse and make him want to hold onto his rose forever.

"How do you do this to me," he gasped between kisses and little nibbles. His tongue was bleeding a bit, scraped on Grell’s sharp teeth. He didn’t care. Grell had told him that he loved him and Styx help him, the ancient felt the same way.

"Like this," Grell hummed against his lips, sliding his arms around the elder and pulling them back into the kiss. He was mindful of his teeth as he coaxed the man’s tongue back into his mouth and sucked on it with a moan.  
  
This man…was he really the ‘prince charming’ he’d been searching for all of his adult life? Had he finally found a man mad enough to love him and put up with everything that came with him? Grell had a lot of baggage, and that had driven off a lot of men in the past. But finally, he felt he belonged in the arms holding him close.  
  
Maybe they were meant to be, after all…

Undertaker kissed him until he had to make himself stop for fear that he’d lose his senses and tear off his clothes. Breathing heavily, he withdrew his lips from Grell’s and he cupped his face in his hands, staring into his eyes. He brushed his thumbs over the redhead’s parted, kiss-swollen lips and he smiled.

"We’d better be more careful with those kisses, lovely. They put me into a frisky mood."

"Well, you aren’t getting any of that while I’m fat!" Grell smirked, "The kisses are the most you get so you should enjoy them!" He sighed and leaned forward, resting his cheek on the taller’s shoulder, "You have to go back to London tonight, don’t you?"

Undertaker put his arms around him, and he nodded. “‘I’m afraid so. It’s not like me to be away from my shop for very long these days, hermit that I’ve turned into. If I’m gone for too long with no activity, those bounders keeping an eye on my place might start getting suspicious. Last thing I want t’ do is tickle their suspicions and risk leading them back to you.”

He sighed and kissed the crown of Grell’s bright head. “But not to worry, m’dear. I plan to hold a meeting in a couple of days, when Slingby’s well enough to come with. I want you to be there too. You, Spears, Knox, Slingby, Humphries and anyone else with authority in your ranks that you all trust enough to be a part of it. We’ve got plans to make.”

"Eric and I are sort of under probation here, until we really prove our loyalty. Makes sense seeing as we did work with the Revivalists for so long. We may not be allowed to attend the meeting," Grell warned, "especially Eric. He’s only just arrived here."

Undertaker frowned a little, annoyed. “So that only leaves Spears, Knox and Humphries…along with whoever they might pick to bring with. Not that I’m keen on the thought of my shop being filled to bursting with reapers, but this is rather important.”

He sighed and nodded, stepping back. “Well, I’ll have a word with Chilly Willy before I go and see if I can convince him to work you in, at least. After all, you’ve got obvious reasons for not wanting to get involved with Dispatch again.”

His gaze slipped to Grell’s abdomen and he grinned. On sudden inspiration, he squatted down and placed his hands on either side of it as he spoke to it. “You be nice to your mum, nipper. Don’t sap his energy too much or cause him undue discomfort, yeah?” He patted the little mound. “I’ll see you again soon, I hope.”

He straightened back up and gave Grell another kiss. “Get plenty of rest, love. It’s one of the best cures for what ails you.”

"It should be easier to do now." Grell admitted, fiddling with a lock of his hair, "Anger can prevent a lot of that. Thank you…for talking to me even though I was really angry with you."

Undertaker smiled. “Thank _you_ for giving this ol’ fool another chance. I know we’ve still got a few hairs to split, but I think if we take the time to sit down together and have a good talk about it we can work out those li’l kinks and figure out where we stand. There’s still a lot I’d like t’ talk to you about and I’m sure you’ve got some questions of your own. It’ll have to wait for another time, though. I’ll ring you on the telly tomorrow to check in with you.”

He retrieved his hat and freed his hair from the pins, removing his glasses again to put them back in his pocket. Putting the hat on, he tipped it at his lover and reluctantly turned to go. “And make sure y’ get plenty to eat, too,” he reminded over his shoulder as he left the room.

He went to William and Ronald’s room before he left, rapping on the door with his knuckles. “Are you in there, Spears?”

William opened the door a moment later. “Can I help you with anything else, sir?”

"You can let Grell attend the meeting in a couple of days at my shop," answered the mortician. "I know you lot are understandably suspicious of him and Slingby, but I’d like him to be there."

William sighed. “I shall discuss it with the other assigned officers of this community, but I cannot promise your desire will be granted.”

"Just so you give it a try." Undertaker adjusted his hat and gave a nod. "Now I’d best be off. I’ve got some preparations to make."

"Sir?" William stalled his retreat. "May I ask what this meeting involves?"

Undertaker grinned over his shoulder at him, paused in mid-step. “That’s a seeecret. Don’t worry, though; you’ll see soon enough.”

William sighed as the mortician resumed walking, heading for the stairs that would take him down to the lobby. “He does enjoy leaving everything shrouded in mystery.” Shaking his head, he closed the door and returned to bed with Ronald.

* * *

 

Two days went by, and William gathered his group together to portal to the Undertaker’s shop. The council hadn’t agreed to let Grell attend, and none of the other senior officers were particularly interested in going to London. They were frightened, and he couldn’t truthfully blame them for that. He took Alan, Ronald and Alexander with him, figuring that Alexander could keep an eye on the Dispatch database with his computer and give them a head’s up if he found anything that might indicate their sanctuary had been located.

"Jeffries, your part in this meeting is minimal," he reminded the techno-savvy young reaper. "I would like you to listen in while monitoring the Dispatch frequencies. Can you manage that?"

Alex nodded and smiled. “You got it.”

"And behave." Ronald shrugged. "At least that’s what he told me. ‘Be respectful and no more ‘old geezer’ talk about the man!’" he mocked William’s tone playfully.  
  
“You should do that anyway. He’s been very helpful to us all. ‘old’ or not, we rely on him for information, supplies, and medical treatment,” Alan pointed out.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The blond shrugged. He had asked the man for a favor, after all. And he wanted to stay on the elder’s good side.

"So long as we are clear." William nodded in satisfaction and created the portal to the mortician’s shop.

It was more taxing to create one large enough for all of them to go through using the method they’d been taught to make them untraceable. He could have asked for assistance, but he wanted the others to have the energy to make a portal back quickly if they needed to leave in a hurry, and Alan was supposed to avoid creating portals for the duration of his pregnancy. After all, Dispatch wasn’t likely to keep taking “no” for an answer from Undertaker forever. With each day that went by, there was a greater risk of them attempting to come and take him by force under bogus arrest orders—and there was an equal chance of them discovering he wasn’t so neutral after all and use that as an excuse.

"After you, gentlemen." He gestured politely at the newly created portal and he waited for his companions to go through, before following them. They arrived in the back storage room as usual, and he cleared his throat before calling out for the ancient.

"Undertaker sir, we’ve arrived."

"In the kitchen," called the mortician’s voice. "Go and have a seat in the parlor while I finish making us some tea."

William led the way, and soon they were all seated in the lounge, leaving one high-back armchair free for their host to sit in. Jeffries opened up his computer and powered it up in his lap, giving William the “thumbs-up” when he opened up the program he’d created and snuck into Dispatch’s communications and deployment database. “Okay, I’m in.”

"Good," approved William. "Just keep a sharp eye out for anything that looks like and order to close in on our base location or Undertaker’s property."

Alex nodded and started scrolling through the files. He winced after a moment and glanced up. “They’ve taken over the Bucharest division in Romania, boss. Just recently confirmed.”

William sighed. “Then they’re getting closer to our location. I certainly hope Athens is prepared to deal with their inevitable infiltration better than other major branches.”

So far, the Greek capital Dispatch division had already ousted three enemy agents, but these people were professionals, and there was still no telling how many agents they had scattered all over the globe. There weren’t many free divisions left to oppose them, and even those that were could not be trusted, due to the high possibility of undercover agents in their ranks.

"They’re spreading ‘emselves thin, chaps," Undertaker said as he entered the room with a tea tray. He set it down on the coffee table and filled each beaker, leaving his guests to add whatever they liked to their individual beverages. He dropped four sugar cubes into his and stirred it, before taking his seat and crossing his legs.

"While they’re out snatching up as many bases as they can, they’ve loosened up security on all the surrounding branches they’ve taken over in these parts. The greedier they get, the more vulnerable they’ll be. We’ve just got t’ bide our time for the right moment."

William frowned. “The right moment to do what, sir? As much as I would love to take back London Dispatch, they still have us vastly outnumbered. Those that have not fled like us have either been killed, imprisoned or recruited into their ranks.”

Undertaker smirked. “Could be you’re not as outnumbered as y’ think, Mr. Spears. Drink up your tea and we can discuss some options, and then I’ve got something to show you all in my catacombs.”

"Dude, wait." Ronald spoke up, raising his hand over his head like a student in a classroom, "but they _do_ recruit people, and not many escape to join us and the other groups like ours. We totally _are_ out-numbered! Unless—are you thinking we try a prison break? Start getting people out of lock-down?”  
  
“I think it would be faster to let Mister Undertaker finish what he plans to share with us before we start with the questions and ideas.” Alan pointed out, setting down his cup of tea to push himself up off the couch.

Undertaker sipped his beverage and shrugged. “Ronnie’s not completely off. We start with London, free any imprisoned agents they locked up for resisting, and then start working on the surrounding agencies like Dublin, Edinburgh and Brussels. Once we’ve secured those and send word out to other divisions that haven’t fallen under the takeover yet, we can start closing in on the baddies and taking back what they stole.”

"And how can we do all of this without spreading our own ranks thin, just as you’ve said the enemy has done?" pressed William.

"You’ll see," promised the mortician with a grin. "I think you’ll be surprised, as well. Now, I’m disappointed Miss Sutcliff isn’t here, but glad you brought your little compuper friend. Mr. Jeffries, what’s the word on that cure Eric was trying to get his mitts on for Alan, here? Have you dragged that up yet?"

"It’s taking a little longer to crack into the medical database, if you can believe it," sighed Alex, glancing up from his screen briefly. "Probably ‘cause I was already familiar with the Dispatch system before this all happened. Medical uses a different coding language, so it could take a few days…but Alan isn’t due for months, so that shouldn’t be a problem."

Undertaker nodded. “Fair ‘nough. As long as you’ve got it before his nipper arrives, with enough time for me to study it and figure out how it’s s’posed to work—or confirm if it’s rubbish. Hopefully it’s legitimate, though. Sounds like it might be, going by what Slingby described.”

"I love him, don’t get me wrong, but…Eric also had done a good job at making the thousand pure souls cure sound legit as well," explained Alan. "and Thorns is such a persistent illness, we were lucky to find a way to slow them using medication. I do hope this cure is real, but I do have my doubts about it."  
  
“You could just try having a million kids?” Ron shrugged, “At least you know that being pregnant helps even more than your meds.”

"I sincerely doubt that Mr. Humphries wants to live his life pregnant indefinitely," scoffed William.

Undertaker chuckled. “Never can tell what a person would do to keep living, chap. But let’s just wait and see what this treatment’s all about before we poo-poo it, eh?” He finished off his tea and he stood up, rubbing his hands together. “Well now, are you all ready to see my surprise?” His grin was wide and bright on the younger reapers.

"Yes, sir." Alan nodded. "And William is quite right. I do not wish to stay pregnant forever."  
  
“Well, it was only a suggestion.” Ron shrugged, getting up and following the procession down under the shop.

None of them had been further than Undertaker’s basement before, and William told Alexander to stay in the parlor and keep an eye on Dispatch communications before they left the room. His reasoning was two-fold. Not only was it important that they keep Dispatch’s movements closely monitored while here, but he didn’t want another face full of salt if the boy got nervous and decided to start tossing it everywhere for luck. Jeffries was a good hacker, but he was a bit on the paranoid side and going down into a dank, dark place he’d never been before with a reaper known for experimenting on the dead might trigger his obsessive compulsive behavior even more.

He himself found it difficult to resist the urge to draw his scythe as Undertaker paused at the back wall of the shop and pressed a bone-pale palm against it. There was a grinding sound, and the wall shifted and slid open to reveal another passage, leading down deeper into the earth. The smell of death and decay wafted up from the tunnel, and William prudently stopped breathing so that he wouldn’t have to smell the offensive odor.

Down they went, their way dimly lit by flickering wall sconces. Undertaker himself seemed to blend in with the blackness, save for the long mane of pale hair falling down his back. William got the irrational feeling that they were all following a ghost down to the River Styx.

"Where are you taking us?" he demanded softly, drawing breath for the sole purpose of asking the question.

"To show you my surpriiiise," answered the mortician in that creepy, amused tone he used sometimes.

"You better not be bringing us down to some creepy dark room where you can simply scare us shitless." Ronald said, taking William’s hand and giving it a squeeze. He didn’t want his boyfriend’s anxiety to be triggered. He didn’t know too much about it and what triggered it, but he was sure the man didn’t want anyone else to witness him in a moment of weakness. He didn’t plan to baby and over-protect the man, but he still cared.

"How scared you get depends on your constitution," chuckled the Undertaker, "but I suspect you chaps are fortified enough by now, after the trials you’ve been through."

The downward slope leveled out, and he led them down a long, wide corridor and into one of the round rooms that opened up on each side. It was difficult to say how many of them there were in all. As he turned around to grin at them, he somewhat resembled an eager boy about to show off a new trick. It was an odd expression to see on the face of such an ancient being.

"What is this all about?" pressed William, the hair at the base of his neck rising. The room was large enough to hold twenty caskets, all standing upright against the stone walls. "This is a tomb."

"My catacombs, to be exact," corrected the mortician. He looked around at the closed caskets and he clapped his hands. "Darlings, come on out and introduce yourselves to our friends."

The casket lids creaked open and human forms stumbled out, eyes blindfolded and mouths gaping wide. They weren’t alive. The autopsy stitches they all bore and the gray color of their skin was proof of that. They started to move toward the visiting reapers, drooling with obvious hunger, but Undertaker held a hand up and they stopped and shuffled into macabre order around him, instead.

"Bizarre Dolls," said William with as much calm as he could muster. "So you _didn’t_ leave off your old habits.”

"Oh, I did for a good bit," shrugged Undertaker, "but then Dispatch agents started coming ‘round, trying to recruit me. I thought that was odd. Then when I realized things were truly going to pot with the organization, I got back into collecting. Just a safeguard, at first. I didn’t know what was really going on immediately. Since finding out…let’s say I’ve been a very busy mortician."

"But—Not these fuckers again!" Ronald complained, slipping closer to William. He remembered all too well what it was like fighting them. "I hate these things! Alan, don’t get too close! They bite—hard!"  
  
Alan, fascinated by the reanimated corpses as he had never encountered any bizarre dolls before, had approached one nearest him. A short young man with long brown hair pulled back with a simple blue ribbon and dressed simply in the robes of a modest priest.  
  
“I’m sure the Undertaker has them all under control, but unlike you, I never was involved the first time. Eric and I had been helping out over in Scotland for a year when you guys encountered these…”  
  
“Well…trust me. If you had been here then, you wouldn’t want to be near them without something to destroy their heads.” Ron huffed, crossing his arms.

"And that’s what makes them so handy!" Enthused the mortician. "It’s not so easy to reap what’s already dead, eh?"

William kept his calm, though he’d gone slightly pale. He spoke through stiff lips, his back rigid with tension. “Please explain what the purpose of this is, sir.”

Undertaker sighed in exasperation. “You need an army. Now you’ve got one. I thought that was pretty clear.” He leaned over the small, brunet priest to mutter conspiringly to him with a nod at Spears. “He can be a little thick, yeah?”

William swallowed, and he felt a hysterical urge to laugh at the insanity of it all. “Undertaker, with all due respect, twenty dolls doth not an army make. As…useful…as they may be, we are in a struggle against several Shinigami nations that have banded together to take over all Dispatch divisions! We are not up against one single branch, sir. They outnumber us by the hundreds…perhaps even thousands.”

"Did I say this group was the only dollies I have to offer?" Undertaker smiled and slipped his fingers through the brunet doll’s ponytail, before making an encompassing gesture. "Catacombs are full of ‘em, Willy. And I’ve got more stashed elsewhere, too. Like I said: I’ve been busy."

The doll tilted his head and his cold lips parted slightly in reaction to the touch of his maker.  
  
“Are these like the ones on the ship, or are they the more advanced ones you started creating after? Or are they a mix?” Ronald asked, taking yet another side-step closer to William, “Hey, you okay? You’re looking pale…” he whispered.

"I’m fine," assured William softly, though his tension hadn’t faded.

"They’re a bit more advanced than the batch I had on the ship," answered the mortician. He shrugged. "I’d have done more with ‘em, but I opted for mass production instead. Some of them can talk, like my darlin’ li’l priest here…but he only speaks when he needs to. Isn’t that right, Jase?"

The doll gave a small yet stiff nod, “Yes.” he stated simply, giving the impression that he could only speak simple phrases until he turned his head and his lips parted again, “Some of us are more capable than others, however.” His words held a hint of a French accent  
  
“Do they have free will? Or not quite?” Alan asked, risking his fingers as he reached out to touch the Doll’s face who turned to look back at him through his blindfold in a curious manor.  
  
“Don’t—touch it! You’ll loose your fingers, Senpai!” Ronald gasped.  
  
“I do not bite unless ordered or threatened.” The French doll spoke once more, turning his head towards the blond, “The same goes for all my brothers and sisters. It is how Master designed us.”

William found it all too horrid, but he held his ground. “I…see. Well, I suppose there is something to be said for an army of undying soldiers. I think we’ve seen enough, sir.”

He felt a tightness in his chest, a warning that he could suffer an anxiety attack. It was so much to absorb. “Pardon me,” he said as gracefully as he could, “I think I’ll go back up for some fresh air. This is a sound idea.”

Undertaker watched him go, and he watched the way his young blond companion followed.

_~Interesting. Seems Spears isn’t quite as stoic as I thought. Good thing I was able to procure Knox’s request.~_

* * *

 

William made his way back up to the basement part, struggling to contain his rising anxiety. It certainly didn’t help when a random bat hanging from the ceiling of the catacombs chose to drop on his head and flap away when he swatted at it. He made it out past the secret door, and he stood there for a moment to collect himself. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and he reached into a pocket with a shaking hand for the powder that he usually mixed with liquid.

"Bugger it," he muttered, opening the vial and tipping his head back to accept it. His mouth was dry, though. He didn’t have enough saliva to wash it down and he started to gag in spite of himself at the bitter taste coating his tongue.

"Oh, hell…" 

"Here." upon reaching the top of the steps and seeing what William was going for, Ronald had hurried into the lounge and grabbed his cup of tea which was still half full compared to William’s empty one. He pressed it into Will’s hand, "A little cold, but better than nothing, right?" he smiled, rubbing his back comfortingly.

"Thank you," muttered the brunet around the cup. He washed down the bitter medication and he sighed. "I just need a moment to collect myself…away from the others."

He nearly invited Ronald to step outside with him, but then he recalled that the Undertaker’s shop was likely being monitored by enemy agents. He cursed softly and opted to go into the parlor, instead. He surprised himself by taking Ronald’s hand to urge him to join him. Not that it really mattered; the others were still underground with the mortician, so there was nobody to see the display of affection.

"I think a nap is in order, when we return," he said to his companion as he went to the fireplace and gazed into the flames. "Some peace and quiet. Yes, that would be ideal."

"A nap in the middle of the day? How like me of you." Ronald chuckled, guiding his boyfriend to sit down on the sofa next to him. "Just relax, I’m sure this’ll turn out all right in the end, even if everything that man does is super creepy with a high potential of danger."  
  
It dawned on the blond that talking about that may not be the best way to help, so he shut up and simply pressed his lips to Will’s.

William kissed him back impulsively—just as Undertaker returned to the parlor with the others following behind him. “My, my…look at the lovebirds!”

Flushing with embarrassment, William pulled away from Ronald. It occurred to him then that they seemed to be short one hacker. He looked around with a frown. “Where did Jeffries go?”

"Jeffries?" repeated the mortician, cocking his head. "Oh, you mean that fellow with the compuper! I haven’t the foggiest." He scratched his chin with his long nails in thought. "Surely th’ lad’s not fool enough to go outside…"

"I’m right here," called Alexander from the hallway, giving the Undertaker a bit of a start. He came out with his laptop in hand. "Had to use the restroom."

William’s brow went up. “You took your computer into the bathroom with you?”

Alex glanced at the open screen of the small computer cradled in his hands. “Well, yeah. You told me to keep an eye on Dispatch communications. I couldn’t do that if it weren’t with me!”

"Dear boy, you need a hobby," snorted Undertaker. He clucked his tongue. "Try interacting with people, sometime."

"This from the guy that spends most of his time talking to corpses," rebutted Alex with a smirk. "So, what were you guys doing down there, anyhow?"

"Well, in the man’s defense, some of his corpses can talk back to him." Alan said simply, moving over to sit down in a comfortable looking chair, glad to get off his feet. They were sore from trekking up so many steps.

William saw no point in keeping it from him. All of them were going to find out eventually, and Jeffries had proven his value and loyalty. “Our host has resumed creation of his ‘Bizarre Dolls’, and he has agreed to lend them to our cause. You are not to mention this information to anyone, until told otherwise. Is that clear, Jeffries?”

"B-Bizarre Dolls?" echoed Jeffries uncomfortably. He’d heard of them; just about _everyone_ had heard the tales of how the Undertaker once went rogue and raised an army of undead zombies. “You mean we’re gonna be fighting alongside a bunch of dead guys?” He dug his little container of salt out of his pocket and glanced behind him to be sure nobody was there, before tossing a pinch of the substance over his shoulder.

"Oh, would you _please_ stop doing that,” groused William, fed up with his superstitious quirks. “And yes, when the time comes to fight, we shall be joined by the Undertaker’s minions. Considering our precarious position, I hardly think we can afford to be choosy.”

"Always with the nasty pocket salt…" Ronald grumbled, "Good way to attract bugs into places…"  
  
“Oh, leave him alone,” defended Alan, “he can’t help it, and ‘bugs’ don’t eat salt. If it were sugar, yes, but salt doesn’t attract them. It just needs to be swept up which is easy enough.”

Alex gave Alan a thankful smile. “It’s an OCD thing. At least _somebody_ gets that.” He looked at William. “So how are we going to do this? Teleport everyone here and just…bum-rush London Dispatch headquarters?”

"We can discuss the details of the plan at a later date," answered William. "We must bide our time for the right moment to strike. Until then, our primary focus should be on remaining hidden and out of reach of our enemies."

Undertaker nodded. “Indeed, and the catacombs are big enough to hold everyone. Well, I s’pose you fellas ought to be on your way then. I’ll just get some things from the kitchen that I’ve put together for Mr. Humphries and Miss Sutcliff. Ronnie, m’lad, why don’t you come help me get it?”

"Uhh, sure." Ronald shrugged casually as if it was a random request. He hopped up and followed the man into the kitchen. Once they were there, He dropped the act, "Did you get it, then?" he asked.

Undertaker pulled out a drawer and procured a bottle of very special, very useful pills. He handed them over with a wink. “‘Course I did. I’ve still got connections and all I had to say was that they’re for meself. Have fun shagging your li’l heart out.”

He picked up a rather large box sitting on the table, and he nodded at the smaller one next to it. “Get that one for me, would you?”

"Thanks!" Ronald stashed the pills away in his pocket, making sure they were secure before grabbing the box, "Bigger one for Grell? He seems less angry since you last visited. More like a love-sick puppy…kinda annoying really."

The mortician lowered his eyes and grinned almost sheepishly. “Yeah, the bigger one has a few treats and a li’l something special inside, t’ keep him warm on cold nights. Hope he likes it. Be a good chap and tell him I’ll try to come for a visit on the weekend. Depends on how close Dispatch is trying to watch me and what my schedule looks like, but I’ll do my best to make time.”

"I’ll let him know when he’s in one of his good moods…he has more mood swings than Alan-senpai." Ronald chuckled, and he shifted the box in his hands and let Undertaker through the door first before walking in and setting the box on the armrest of the couch. "This one’s for you, Alan." he grinned across to the brunet. "But I’ll carry it for you. Even though you don’t make the portals yourself, they still take some outta you traveling them."  
  
“Thank you, Ronald, and thank you, sir, for continuing to supply me with the things I need.” Alan nodded to Undertaker.

"My pleasure, lad. Take good care of yourself and I’ll see you when I can get away for a visit. Otherwise, I s’pose I’ll see you when it’s time for your next checkup."

He opened up the portal for them that would take them back to their base. “I’ll ring Grell up when I finish my latest…er…subject. Should be about after dinner time.”

William ushered Alexander and Ronald through, before taking Grell’s box from the mortician. “Have a good day, sir. We’ll keep you informed of our status. Humphries, let’s go.”

Undertaker waved at them as the two remaining reapers passed through the portal, and he closed it up behind them and checked the clock. Yes, he should be finished around dinner time.

* * *

-To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

Eric perked up when the door to the suite he was sharing with Alan opened and the younger reaper came in. Ronald followed behind him with a box of supplies, which he set down on the table in the little dining space.

"How’d it go?" asked the Scotsman with a grunt, sitting up a bit more in the bed. He’d been ordered by Alan to stay in bed until the medics declared his wound mended enough for everyday activities—the exception being to go to the bathroom or bathing…and Alan insisted on helping him with the latter.

"Everything went fine, meeting-wise." Alan said, opening the box to put the supplies away properly around the room, pausing as he passed the bed to kiss his lover, "A plan to strike back is finally taking shape. Sorry we can’t tell you more currently." He straitened up and opened the drawer to the chest at the end of the bed, depositing his pregnancy supplies in it.  
  
“Not the plan I would have chosen.” Ronald shrugged, choosing to help Alan put things away. “I can foresee someone getting hurt—namely me.”

"Wi’ tha Undertaker involved, tha’ wouldnae surprise me," grumbled Eric. He shrugged. “‘S a’right. I’m sure they’ll fill me in on it if I need tae be a part of it, whatever tha plan is."

He watched his lover with a crooked little smile, admiring the sight of him. He didn’t _need_ the others to trust him yet, as long as Alan did. Not that he didn’t care about the opinions of his friends…they just weren’t as important as his partner’s.

"Thanks for helpin’, Ronnie," he remarked off-hand, remembering his manners. "I’d get ou’ of bed tae help too, but I’d get a smack fer it."

"You would. No more ripping your stitches!" Alan confirmed, sliding the door closed.  
  
“No problem. Will’s probably helping Grell with his box, too.” Ron shrugged, taking the now empty box and tucking it under his arm, “Now, I’m gonna leave before you two start any mushy-business.”

Eric waggled his eyebrows playfully at Alan. “Good call. I’m feelin’ a bit frisky after waiting all day fer mah cutie tae come home.”

"We are not getting ‘frisky’ at all until you are healed up!" Alan wagged a finger at his lover as he removed his jacket and hung it back up in the wardrobe. Then he walked over to the bed and sat down with a sigh of relief, happy to be off his feet again. "This baby is getting heavy, and he or she is not even close to ready to come out yet!" he complained as Ronald closed the door behind him as he let himself out.

Eric wrapped an arm around him to pull him close, and he settled a tanned, big hand over the smaller reaper’s rounding belly to rub it gently. “I was jus’ teasin’ ya, sweet’eart. Much as I’d love an encore o’ how we conceived this little miracle, I’m no’ interested in windin’ up getting stitched again. Nothin’ says I cannae jus’ hold ya, ‘till I’m in better shape.”

He kissed Alan’s temple and murmured into his ear. “But dun’ be surprised if I wanna pleasure ya ‘till yer screamin’ my name like tha’ day again, soon as I can move ‘round wi’out bustin’ these stitches.”

Alan’s face flushed a deep red, “I…wasn’t that loud, was I?” As much as he treasured the memory of that night, he couldn’t remember his own actions; only what Eric had done to him over and over. The way his hands had felt, his lips, his body rubbing against his—  
  
Oh Rhea, he needed to stop thinking about it! He was giving himself a problem.

"Aye, ya were loud an’ unfettered," purred Eric, nibbling his ear. "Have ye any idea how often I’ve thought o’ tha way ya called out…tha way yer sweet little face blushed scarlet as I took ya? Gods, Alan, I’ve ne’er been with a partner tha’ made me feel such passion. I’ve gotten through so many lonely nights jus’ remembering th’ way ya looked, an’ tha way yeh touched me an’ kissed me…like we were tha last two reapers in th’ world."

He kissed his neck, and the motions of his stroking hand became more sensual. “I want tae see it…hear it…feel it all again.”

"After…you healed—Eric!" Alan gasped, curling up against his lover, almost like a kitten, "You’re making this hard to behave! I don’t want you hurt again."

Eric chuckled softly and cupped Alan’s chin. “I can live wi’ jus’ this, fer now,” he promised, and then he kissed him deeply. True to his talent’s, the blond’s lips and tongue did things that the rest of his body was currently prohibited from; teasing, stroking and loving on him in ways that were practically pornographic. He grinned against his lips when Alan made a frustrated sound, assured that he could easily turn his lover on. He could relate all too well with Alan’s frustration. The rising tent in the sheets over his groin was testament of that.

"As soon as I’ve recovered," he promised huskily against the moist lips he’d been ravishing seconds ago, "I’ll take us both back tae tha’ first time…an’ I’ll have ya hollering mah name again, sweetheart."

"We have a much more romantic setting this time," Alan breathed, already feeling breathless—and all from a kiss. He slid his arms around Eric and let out a happy sigh, a smile curling his kiss-swollen lips. Again for the millionth time since Eric had returned to his side once more, he reminisced in the feeling of being completely happy.

Eric returned his embrace and rubbed his whiskered chin against his head. “Aye, we do. If I’d known how things were gonna go, I’d have tried harder tae make sure yer first time was in a better setting.”

He kissed Alan’s ear and he murmured a promise to him. “I think it’s a sign, mah stitches burstin’ as they did. Next time we’re together like tha’, I’m gonna make it as romantic as I can.”

"I never had expected us to go that far, either. That whole day was so full of confusion and everything happened so quickly…" Alan reached up and played with a lock of blond, "I don’t regret what we did, though, and I don’t regret the result. I just wish this Dispatch takeover thing hadn’t been happening on the same time. I wish we could have enjoyed the start of our new relationship as…lovers." the brunet blushed.

"So do I," agreed the Scotsman. "But our time apart is o’er now, and I mean tae treat ya th’ way I should have tae begin wi’. Gods willing, we’ll stay out of the enemy’s grasp an they’ll eventually be ousted an’ beaten back. I’d like tae raise our kid in a world where we aren’t on tha run, if I can."

He settled a protective hand over Alan’s stomach again, rubbing in gentle circles.

"And of course I do as well." Alan placed his hand next to Eric’s, "It’s why fighting back is so important to me. We need to give him or her the best life possible, but a life in hiding isn’t that life."

"It cannae be like this forever," sighed Eric hopefully. "They havenae yet taken over tha whole bloody reaper world. Suren someone ‘sides us will fight back. Before I left, I heard tha Japanese an’ American divisions are given ‘em hell. Too bad they’re sae far away from us, but I dunno if they could spare tha manpower tae come help out Europe anyhow. Whatever plan Undertaker’s go’ under tha’ ridiculous hat of his, I hope it’s a good one."

"I think it is, but I don’t think William or Ronald are all too sold on it." Alan looked back up at him, "I just don’t know how helpful I can be. Being pregnant, and then having a newborn to take care of."

"All ya need tae worry about is keeping healthy an’ bringin’ this babe safely into tha world," encouraged the Scotsman. "Leave tha fighting tae those that aren’t carrying a life in ‘em. Nothin’ says ye cannae help keep watch, cook an’ assist wi’ planning, sweetheart. Level heads like yers are gonna be jus’ as valuable as tha fighting arms of meatheads like meself."

"And worry about the father of my child as he’s out fighting alongside our friends? You have already been shot with a gun-scythe." Alan pointed out, but he knew the man was right. He’d be better use to the group as hanging back and handling things off the battlefield, and taking care of his baby—maybe Grell’s as well as Grell wasn’t the kind of person to pass up the chance at showing off his skills.

"I promise I’ll be verra careful, when it comes to fighting," vowed Eric. He kissed Alan’s temple. "I’ve go’ a family tae think about now, after all."

"And I want our baby to know his or her daddy." Alan smiled, kissing his cheek.

Eric shifted a little and winced, relaxing back against the pillows a little as he laid his cheek on Alan’s head. “An’ I want tae know mah kid, too.” He yawned softly. “I think tha pain meds they gave me jus’ before ye came back are kickin’ in. Will ya stay wi’ me fer a while, least ‘till I fall asleep?”

"Of course I will." Alan kissed him again. "My feet and back would appreciate the extended rest as well."

"Good," sighed Eric happily. He rubbed Alan’s belly again and kissed the crown of his head, letting his eyes drift shut.

* * *

 

Ronald waited with impressive patience for the day to come to its end. Working on his chores and responsibilities as he would any other day, but as soon as dinner ended and he and William retired to their room for the evening, he jumped on what he’d been planning to do all day. As William settled down to read a book, the spicy little blond hid in their bathroom, getting ready for more intimate plans.  
  
A shower, cologne, and a complete lack of clothes of any kind.  
  
“William-senpai.” he practically purred, slipping out of the bathroom and swaying over to the sofa William was settled on. “Why don’t you put the book down tonight?”

William didn’t immediately look up from the book. “In a moment, Ronald. I’m nearly at the end of this chapter.”

"The chapter will be there later—it’s not going anywhere." Ronald ran his fingers over the top of the book, pushing it down and closing it in William’s lap as he crawled over the man’s legs—which were stretched out over the cushions.

William looked up in annoyance—only to get caught staring in helpless confusion and surprise. His angular features went faintly slack and his usually narrow eyes widened behind the frames of his glasses. “R-Ronald Knox, w-what in heavens…have I not asked you t-to practice a bit of modesty, for the sake of my sanity?”

His gaze devoured the blond’s nude form despite his words, growing hot and vivid with the lust he could not stifle. He reached up to tug at the color of his pajama top, finding it too tight to his liking. Ronald was in a state of arousal, and the blushing tip of his cock rubbed intimately against William’s stomach as he situated himself on top of him. Breath quickening, the former Dispatch supervisor barely stopped himself from reaching down to grip it, to feel it in his hand and see what sort of sounds he could provoke from his boyfriend as a result.

"What are you doing?" he whispered tightly. 

"You did request it, but I’m done. This is me making my move." Ronald moaned, claiming his lips and running his hand down along William’s body. "I know you want this as much as I do, and I don’t want to wait any longer." his fingers pinched open the buttons down Will’s pajama top with practiced skill.  
  
“Come party with me, William.”

Will’s hand refused to listen to his brain, reaching greedily for the protruding shaft of Ronald’s arousal. “Are you certain?” He gripped it gently at first, and then with more confidence. “We have only barrier protection to use. There is a chance of the same thing happening to us that happened to Sutcliff and the Undertaker.”

"Not anymore. I got morning-after pills for men, now!" Ronald grinned, nodding over to the bottle sitting on his bedside table. "No tiny little Knox-Spears baby for us! Just us enjoying ourselves, finally."

William glanced over at the bottle of salvation, surprised. “However did you manage to procure _those_?” Such prescriptions were only available on the reaper side. He dearly hoped Ronald hadn’t done anything reckless that might lead to Dispatch tracking them down, but he was far too interested in going through with this to start making accusations. He stroked Ronald’s length slowly, and he reached up with his other hand to run it down his chest and stomach. He’d wanted to touch him this way for longer than he cared to admit.

Ronald gave off a moan before answering with love in his eyes. “I asked Undertaker to pick some up for me,” he muttered before laying claim to the man’s lips, his fingers working open his top to expose Will’s smooth chest.

A smirk adorned William’s lips. “Did you, now? Where was I?” His palm stroked the blond’s chest and he admired his lithe build, his other hand gripping his arousal more firmly. His pajama bottoms began to bulge conspicuously, pressing against one of Ronald’s straddling thighs. 

"Not around," Ron purred, "I suspected you’d appreciate the discreetness of the situation, though Undertaker does know. But he is the only one, and now you can have your taste of Knox when oh so tempted because of my sleeping habits."

William left off exploring his body to move them to shrug out of his pajama top once Ronald got it open, and he sat up and put his arms around him. He pulled him closer, so that their groins were flush against one another with only the thin layer of his cotton bottoms between them, and he reached up to take off the blond’s glasses. He set them aside on the nightstand beside the pills, before removing his own and doing the same.

"Then by all means," he murmured, forgetting his inhibitions entirely, "demonstrate for me these talents you so often brag about, Knox."

"Only after things even out—lift!" He said, tugging at Will’s pajama bottoms as the man lifted his hips. He smirked. "Why no underpants?" he teased, sliding the bottoms off his legs and tossing them aside to crouch down between the man’s legs, taking hold of him and running the tip of his tongue up along his stiff shaft.

"I…had no clean ones to put on," William admitted, breathe hitching as the sensation of Ronald’s tongue did positively scandalous things to his senses. He was planning to do the very same thing to him, but Ronald beat him to it. "Oh, you truly don’t…play fair…"

"Hmmm~" Ronald responded, parting his lips around Will’s tip and sliding them down his length. He began to bob his head, dragging lips and tongue along his lover’s sex. His hands gripped Will’s hips as he began to speed up, sucking his cheeks in to change the pressure in his mouth.

Digging his fingers through the younger reaper’s two-toned hair, William panted softly and watched as his length slid in and out of Ronald’s mouth. Nobody had done this to him in…well, quite some time. His devotion to his job put such a crimp in his social life that he rarely got the opportunity for dates or encounters such as this, and often times when such opportunities actually presented themselves, his anxiety rose and he would opt out of it.

It was different with Ronald, though. Not precisely comfortable per say, but the blond had a way of making him forget his reservations and inhibitions. Breathe quickening, fingers tightened in Ronald’s hair as the younger reaper’s busy mouth pleasured him, William began to roll his hips in time with the other’s strokes. A groan burst past his lips and his eyes drifted shut. He savored every slurp of the mouth and bob of Ron’s head, and he doubted he would last for very long if he kept this up.

"Knox," he blurted tightly, voice husky and uneven. Oh, for the love of Purgatory…it simply wouldn’t do for him to spill himself so quickly. William released Ronald’s hair and he reached down between his spread thighs, gripping the base of his cock to prevent himself from coming down his lover’s throat. His jaw clenched and another groan passed through his clamped teeth.

Close…that was far too close. He was bucking in his mouth, but at least he’d halted full arrival. 

Ronald looked up at William and pulled back, giving his tip a light, playful nip. “You don’t have to be afraid of releasing. I really don’t mind.” he purred lustfully, his hand stroking Will’s slick shaft. “I want us to make the most of our first time together.”

"Your offer is sorely tempting," gasped the brunet, not joking in the slightest. But considering how long it had been since he’d enjoyed this sort of intimacy, his refractory period was bound to be short. He simply did not want to be crass and come down his lover’s throat without warning. He groaned again, pumping into Ronald’s hand and trying to reach down to reciprocate.

"You’re too far away," complained Will. "Come here, Ronald."

"Gladly~" Ron grinned, wiggling himself closer. "How do you want me? Up," he pointed at his lips, "or down?" he turned his finger down upon his erection. He kept stroking him teasingly as he spoke.

Inspiration struck William then, and he flipped Ronald over onto his back. “Both.”

With a smirk of confidence at Ronald’s suddenly surprised face, he turned around, straddled the blond’s torso facing away from his head, and lowered his mouth to Ron’s waiting erection. He’d never tried this position before, but it seemed perfectly logical to him. As he slid his lips over the head of Ronald’s cock, he left himself exposed to his hands and mouth for the same treatment—should he choose to take the offer.

William’s manhood was dangling right over his face, nearly touching the blond’s blushing cheek, but that distraction didn’t last long after William’s lips slid over his own hardly-touched shaft. “Ah-ohhh…” Ronald hummed, closing his eyes with a groan. He had given head many times since he was a young reaper in the academy, but for all those times, he’d never actually received the same treatment. Whether the person he was sharing his body with was a casual fling, or something that had lasted a while. The pleasure of it surprised the blond. He was used to being mostly ignored there, but William was different. Treating him with…equality? By returning the favor with his lips and tongue—  
  
“Nnhmmm~” William’s tongue felt so good… Ronald rolled his hips ever so slightly and then opened his eyes a crack, parting his lips once more and taking Will back into his mouth, letting him slide to the back of his throat with ease.

William hummed in approval, bobbing his head faster. He stroked Ronald’s parted thighs, breath huffing through his nostrils as he both gave and received pleasure. He could hardly believe his own boldness, but he’d been holding off for so long. He paused his oral ministrations for a moment, lifting his head to look over his shoulder. His hand steadily stroked his companion’s saliva-coated length.

"Lubricant, Ronald," he managed breathlessly. "Where is it?"

"Uhhh…" Ronald paused in thought, his lips still around Will’s length which muffled his voice, "Dwaww." he pointed over to the wardrobe which stood open, a line of drawers was located on one side. He had the bottom two to use, and he remembered putting the citrus-scented oil in one of them.

William did his best to stretch out and reach for the drawers without shifting his position too much. After a bit of soft swearing and digging, he located the oil and huffed as he pulled it out. Yes, much better. Now he could truly begin to work. He resumed sucking his companion off, groaning softly around the stiffened flesh his tongue was massaging as Ronald’s attentive motions made his sex twitch and the sack beneath it tighten. He opened the bottle of oil and dribbled some onto one hand and fingers, dripping a little onto the couch in the process. The cushions would wash…he really didn’t care, at this point.

Humming around the swollen shaft he was pleasuring, he rubbed his fingertips in circular motions over the little pink-fleshed bud beneath Ronald’s balls, making it slick before pressing a fingertip into it. He sucked harder on him, tongue working with less practiced ease than Ronald’s, but hopefully well enough to do the job.

Ronald groaned, his bobbing head faltering at the intrusion of fingers. His shaft twitched, and he groaned, pulling back just as a second finger was introduced, “Will…I’m close!” he gasped, curling his toes, “Aw—fuck!”  
  
With a curse, he realized he was closer than he thought and release took him, leaving him groaning and twitching under William, “Shit—s-sorry, Nngh…”

William swallowed quickly as Ronald came in his mouth, coming close to gagging because it was so unexpected. Fortunately, the blond’s diet made his libation palatable enough to prevent an embarrassing moment of heaves, and Will took it stoically. He licked his panting companion’s shaft clean, smiling a little.

"And here I was worried about arriving too quickly, myself," he remarked softly.

The blond flushed in embarrassment, “Sorry—you…it’s just that that was my first time…receiving that…” he admitted. “I didn’t know it felt so good, and—normally I last a lot longer!”

William was surprised, and he changed positions on the couch so that he could stretch out on top of Ronald. He made sure to keep the oil close at hand. “Do you mean to tell me, Ronald Knox, that none of your partners have ever returned the favor for you?”

He couldn’t possibly be a virgin; not with skills like that and his utter lack of modesty.

"Not even one." he shook his head, "They all just wanted to get to the point of things and fuck me." he shrugged. "Plus, sometimes they thought it was disgusting to give, but not receive, and one guy told me there was no point because I was too small."

William glanced down at the blond’s softening length, finding that an absurd excuse for someone to use. Ronald was possibly a touch below average, but certainly not what he would consider “small”. One would think that the less endowed the subject of oral sex was, the easier it would be on the one performing. He popped open the oil and he spread it over his fingers, before setting the bottle down on the floor.

"Then you’ve been with some rather lazy, inconsiderate partners," William surmised, lifting up a bit to seek out the entrance beneath Ronald’s sack. "I cannot claim to be an expert, but I have no intention of being like them."

He kissed him as he gently eased a fingertip in, just past the ring of muscle. He waited for a moment before pushing it further, letting Ronald relax around the intrusion. His tongue stroked inside the younger reaper’s mouth as he began to prepare him.

Ronald moaned into the kiss, and parted his legs more, one of them dangling off the couch.  
  
“They…were also not anything serious,” he panted when Will’s lips allowed him to speak. “You are my first…in the way of being serious. You’re the only one I’ve waited for, content with simply laying next to you in bed. You’re something special I never had before. The others I’ve been with were just….sex.”

Briefly stunned by the admission, William paused and gazed down at him. Ronald was a renowned sweet-talker, but there was no logical reason why he would resort to such a tactic when he already had what he was after. He stared into his eyes for a moment.

"I truly had no idea," he admitted, and he resumed his attentive actions. He lowered his mouth to Ronald’s clavicle, kissing along the v-shaped bone and nipping lightly at the skin as his finger thrust deeper. "You have hidden it well, little goldfinch."

He wasn’t even consciously aware of the pet name he’d just assigned to Ronald. In his love for birds, he tended to make comparisons and Ronald’s personality and coloring seemed to suit the sociable, yellow bird. He could have said he might have taken advantage of it, had he known sooner—but he’d never considered Ronald as more than an underling before he actually got to know him.

He ground his arousal against the blond’s recently spent groin as he began to pump slowly inside of him, and he spoke in a husky murmur. “Just look at the lecherous state you’ve put me in.” 

"Gladly!" Ronald moaned, tilting his head to gaze down at William. He gave a little whistle, "Damn, I must be talented to be responsible for that sight!" He gave a cocky smirk and reached down, running his palm and fingers over the length, "Mmm…"

William’s breath caught, and he thrust into Ronald’s touch greedily. He’d been wanting this for some time, himself. It felt far too delightful. He pushed faster inside of him…deeper.

"And do you want it, Knox?" he breathed. "Do you want it inside of you?"

"Deeply." Ronald smirked, his breath hitching each time Will thrust his fingers deeper within him.

"It pleases me to hear that," purred William. He moved sinuously on top of him, lips traveling over the blond’s jaw and throat as he added a second finger and patiently thrust and scissored inside of him. "I too have been looking forward to this. You’ve no idea how difficult it has been for me to restrain myself when you run about stark nude…teasing little imp."

He gave a firm push with both fingers, feeling a spongy lump inside and deliberately stroking it in passing.

I—haan—I like being naked!” Ronald gasped, turning his head to nip at William’s ear as his hands wandered over his body, “Comfortable…and you have got to admit I make quite the v-view…Ohh, William! Fuck! R-Right there!” He cried out as his sweet spot was hit.

William smirked a bit and obliged him, rubbing the spot firmly with both fingers, before withdrawing them and thrusting again. He loved the sound of his companion’s young, passionate cries spurring him on; adored the way his face flushed with pleasure and need. He intended to make this an experience that Knox would not soon forget. As much as he typically disliked gratuitous vulgarities, he could make an exception in this case. He could feel Ronald starting to harden again against his thigh as he pleasured him. It was quite…gratifying.

The blond let out a yelp-like squeak, and his toes curled from the jolt of pleasure that came from William’s action. His chest rose and fell with each breath as he closed his eyes and began to seek for William’s soft skin with his lips. Finding the crook of his neck, the blond began to suckle, leaving his mark and muffling his noises of pleasure.

Endeared to his reactions, William strove to keep giving him such sensations. He’d never cared so much about his partner’s reactions before. Yes, he’d always sought to give as well as receive pleasure in any sexual encounter, but never before had it mattered as much to him as it did now. He husked soft promises against Ronald’s ear, steadily thrusting into his touch and pumping his fingers. He was getting so close to being ready for him…so close.

"Ronald," he groaned, nipping his ear. How was it possible for this blond to make him lose all inhibitions so easily? With other partners, he had always maintained control. Ronald was pushing him to his limits, though.

"Sh—shhh," Ronald gasped, reaching up with a free hand to press a finger to his lips. "I-kn-know. Just—" He reconnected their lips, sucking on Will’s lower lip with a moan. He was ready for this, ready for William, ready for their relationship to reach the next level.

Deciding he’d prepared him enough, William grabbed the bottle and he applied more oil to his swollen length for additional lubrication. Setting the bottle down once more, he lifted Ron’s legs and propped them onto his shoulders, exposing him for his intentions. Quietly nervous inside, he positioned himself and pressed against the prepared entry. It had been a long time since he’d been with anyone, and he dearly hoped he’d spent enough time stretching his lover.

"Slowly," he breathed, rocking forward to press the tip of his cock in. "No need to rush this."

It was easier said than done. As soon as the head of his sex nudged past the snug ring of muscle, the pleasure of it made him gasp and want to drive it in all the way. He held back, though, watching his lover’s features as he pumped shallowly, edging in a little deeper with each gentle thrust.

Ronald’s eyes fluttered shut as his head fell back against the cushions, his mouth hanging open and letting out airy little gasps. His grip tightened their hold on William’s arms and a full moan finally escaped as he felt William finally enter him, slowly working his way into his depths.  
  
He couldn’t be sure, but he felt more sensitive. It could be the complete lack of alcohol in his system, or it could be the long stretch of time he’d gone without—or it could be just because it was with the man he actually had real feelings for. Either way, it almost felt like he was having his first time again…almost.  
  
Of course, William was being gentle. Most men he’d shared a bed with always got rough soon after prepping. It made for a whole new experience.

William’s breath hitched as Ronald’s muscles clenched around him, and he nearly reminded him to relax out of fear that he was hurting him—but then he saw the mischievous little smirk on his lips. “Cheeky,” he accused, smirking back at him. He picked up the pace a little, changing the angle of his thrusts in an attempt to stimulate him just right inside. “I think you might just be enjoying this.”

Which was a very good thing, of course. The last thing he wanted to do was have a one-sided experience. He watched the way Ronald’s eyes fluttered shut with pleasure, and he couldn’t resist kissing the lids, his lips brushing over the sun-kissed lashes. He’d never really noticed before they became romantically involved the way Ronald’s lashes were tipped with blond. Two-toned like his hair, they gave him a rather exotic look.

"You really are too attractive for your own good," groaned William.

"Good thing I have you by my side, then." Ronald moaned, cracking his eyes open to look up through his eyelashes at William. "To make sure I stay good. It’s not easy to be this sexy~"  
  
He groaned and tilted his hips, his abs fluxing as he met Will’s chosen in angle with a new angle of his own, “Ahh…”  
  
Ronald let his eyes slide over Will’s torso above him, and he smiled, reaching over to touch his chest, “But maybe you know about that already, yourself.”

William gave a deep, slow thrust, his breath catching in delight. “I believe…the icy exterior helps to…repel those that would otherwise make advances on me.”

He gasped again when Ronald used his inner muscles to squeeze him again. “Gods, Knox…that’s simply…”

There were no words to describe it, and it spurred his passion on further. William began to pump faster and harder, buttocks flexing and relaxing with his thrusts. He was quickly losing his senses—along with his self-control. It was a bloody good thing they had more options for protection now, because he could easily imagine himself having another go at the blond later after he recovered from this.

"D-didn’t repel…m-me—Aihya!!" Ronald cried out, writhing under the older reaper, "F-Fast—Mmmh!" He used his arms to prop himself up, capturing William’s lips with his own to urge him on. His lips begging and coaxing more from William as they moved wetly over William’s.

Groaning with pleasure against Ronald’s damp lips, William sped up his thrusts a bit. He traced Ronald’s gasping mouth with the tip of his tongue, unable to hold back his own sounds of delight. It was wonderful…perfect. He gulped and caught his breath, slowing his thrusts again to try and stave off his climax for longer. He smirked down at his companion when Ronald made a frustrated noise, and he moved even slower. His length slid in with excruciating languor, and he watched Ronald’s flushed face.

"Not too soon, Knox," he insisted. "I have been waiting for this too long to finish so quickly."

Ron whimpered, “Your teasing…maddening—haah!” he sucked in his breath through the gap between their lips, “I was almost there!”  
  
He gripped William tighter, “Please—we can go for a second round!” He rolled his hips in attempt to speed things back up, groaning in pleasure as he took William into himself, “Please!”

William made a very odd sound that he wasn’t accustomed to hearing from himself. He stared blankly at nothing as the young troublemaker beneath him squeezed him tight enough to make his breath escape like a bellows, and then proceeded to sodomize himself on him.

"You are," he growled, slamming into him compulsively, "a most…impatient reaper."

His pelvic muscles tightened and his hips snapped as if driven by another’s will, and the former supervisor buried his face between where his lover’s shoulder met his neck and grunted, helpless to stop himself. He thought he heard something creak and crack, but he was too invested in passion to pay it much mind. He gasped the blond’s name and pumped harder, driving into his tight flesh with reckless abandon.

"Y-ye-ah, s-so?" Ronald gasped out loudly, "W-Will-ia-m!" The couch shifted against the floor, wood creaking under their love making.  
  
The blond cried out, body going stiff and his erection twitching. Overwhelmed, he reached down and stroked himself. Close, he was so close. Crying out William’s name again, he felt that sweet release of pent up pleasure, messing his hand and stomach in the process.

Another one of those animalistic sounds ripped past William’s lips when he felt the warm spurt of Ronald’s libation, along with the spasmodic clenching around him. Gritting his teeth, William unloaded inside of his lover. He couldn’t breathe if he tried, and his hands gripped the cushions of the sofa tightly as he filled him.

"Bloody…hell," he groaned with the last of his breath, bucking sharply inside of Ronald in his release. He swore he nearly had an out of body experience, with that. He noticed in the back of his mind that he’d created a wet spot where his seed dribbled out, having no room left inside the snug sheath. With an effort, he lifted his head off Ronald’s shoulder and looked down at him.

"Well then," panted William, just as flushed and sweaty as his companion. "I think that just proves—"

His statement got cut off when the legs of the couch collapsed as one of them snapped completely, and the piece of furniture hit the floor at one corner and listed a bit.

They’d broken the couch. They’d _broken the bloody couch_. The realization of it hit him, and to his own surprise, William laughed. 

Ronald gasped in shock when the couch broke, the wood snapping and sending them closer to the ground. But William’s laugh distracted him from any comments he was about to make. Instead, he blinked up at William’s laughing face. The man looked…younger, more care-free when he laughed. It was even more attractive.  
  
The blond smiled and gave a small chuckle, he leaned up and kissed his cheek, “You should laugh more often, Will.” he whispered.

The former Dispatch supervisor’s laughter tapered off, but he couldn’t help the smile that remained. It felt…good. Ronald Knox was likely to be the only one to see such an expression on his face, but for the first time in as long as he could recall, he felt he could open up a bit with someone. “I honestly couldn’t tell you when the last time I laughed _was_. It comes as no surprise to me that it finally happened again with you.”

Ronald caressed his cheek. “I love that I can be the one to make you smile and laugh again,” he muttered, closing his eyes and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Even if we had to do so by breaking the couch with our shagging!”

William huffed again and laid his forehead against Ronald shoulder, sighing. “I shall have to see what I can do to mend it, tomorrow. It wouldn’t be very polite of us to break our hosts’ furniture without at least attempting to repair it.”

He sighed, and he eased out of the blond. Grunting a little as he got up, he offered a hand down to Ronald, his eyes sweeping over him with admiration. “Shall we clean up a bit and retire to the bed, now?”

Ronald nodded, taking his hand and grunting as he was pulled to his feet, his legs going weak and wobbly under him. He slipped his arms around William for support. “I may need another shower with this huge mess coating me.” He smiled, nuzzling under William’s jaw.

"I suspected as much." William smirked, feeling rather satisfied that he’d managed to please his lover so much. It was certainly an experience he wouldn’t soon forget, himself. Guiding Ronald into the bathroom, he bade him to sit down on the closed lid of the toilet seat while he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature.

"Now then, let’s see about cleaning you up," he offered, stepping into the shower first and holding his hand out for the blond to take.

Ronald grinned and took his hand, stepping into the warm shower and kissing his lover’s cheek as he did so. “Get you cleaned up while we are at it.” he purred, “And remind me to take one of those pills when we turn in for the night. Don’t want to forget that, since we didn’t think to grab a condom.”

"I shall have to be more conscious of that, from now on," sighed William. He was simply so used to being alone that it hadn’t crossed his mind.

They showered together and Ronald took his pill before they settled in for bed. William pulled his lover close and sighed, relaxing in contentment.

* * *

-To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

 

The dim, early morning light leaked in through the drapes in Grell’s room when the wind blew hard enough through his opened window to shift them. It was too early for anyone to be up, but the song of a morning bird drifted in on the fresh, salty air.

Grell moaned and rolled over onto his side, severe cramps disrupting his dreams and causing him to cradle his growing belly, a moan of pain escaping his lips.

Giving up on sleep for the time-being, Grell shifted out from under his covers, his legs shaking as he stood and sleepily padded over to the vanity set up in his room. Searching through the top drawer for the pregnancy-safe pain killers Undertaker had sent him in his last care package. He sat down on the vanity’s stool as he clumsily searched, feeling incredibly weak due to the pains in his stomach and back. Finally, he located the little green glass bottle and he uncorked it, shaking a few pills into his hand to count out the proper dosage he needed.

His hands shook as he did so, causing two or three pills to fall over his thumb and into his lap. With a sigh, the redhead set the bottle down on his vanity and looked down to retrieve the pills from his lap.

He froze. His eyes snapping open wide. He didn’t have his glasses on, but the small amount of light leaking into his room was enough to let him see color, and with the shock, he finally felt the dampness of his lower half.

Blood, a lot of it, drenched the skirts of his pink nightgown…and it trailed back to his bed where his bedding was also drenched in the purist of red.

Grell cried out, his voice elevating to a scream.

“No! No, no! NOT MY BABY!”

* * *

 

Undertaker muttered and grumbled in his coffin when the ring of his telephone began to disturb his sleep. He swatted at the noise in irritation, as if it were a bug. This incidentally caused him to scrape his fingernails along the side of his casket.

"Too early, y’ pesky sodders!"

The ringing stopped, and he sighed in relief and cuddled deeper into the padding of his coffin.

"Hmph…that’s better."

Just as he started to drift off again, the ringing returned. Eyes popping open to glare in the blackness, he rolled onto his back and shoved the lid of his coffin open. “Who th’ bloody ‘ell’s calling me on the telly at this hour?!”

It then occurred to him that he’d told Grell and the others to call him if there were any emergencies. Upon considering that possibility, he stumbled out of the coffin and traipsed across the floor to his desk, leaning over it from the other side to grab the phone off the cradle.

"Southside mortuary," he yawned, "Undertaker speaking."

"Get your rickety old arse over here!" Ronald’s urgant young voice sounded right away, the sounds of Grell’s panicked screams in the background, "Something’s wrong with Grell and the baby!"

Undertaker straightened up so quickly that he bumped his head on the candle lamp dangling over his desk on its chain. He quickly righted it as it wobbled. “What’s happened? Is it early contractions? Low blood pressure? Any bleeding?”

"…A lot of bleeding. It looks like he went on a killing spree in his sleep but it’s all Senpai’s blood." Ronald confirmed the fears of the elder, "I don’t know much more than that. He just woke everyone up with screaming and we burst in to see the bloody Nile River! Get over here!"

The mortician dropped the phone without a word and went to fetch his medical supply case, leaving Ronald hanging on the line as he gathered additional things he might need. He summoned a portal, not bothering to grab a change of clothing or hang up the phone.

* * *

 

"Is he coming?" William asked of Ronald as the blond kept calling Undertaker’s name over the phone. He glanced into the bedroom, where the medics had dressed up the bed with padding and were trying to slow the bleeding.

Ronald shrugged and sighed as he hung up and moved to look into Grell’s room with a frown, “I hope so. If not, he is a first-class asshole… Do…you think Senpai’ll be alright? I—never heard him scream like that…and…the baby?”

William shook his head, frowning. “I wish I knew. I have no knowledge of childbirth or pregnancy. Hopefully our medics can get it under control until the Undertaker arrives to assist.”

He didn’t believe for a moment that the man would brush this off. Aside from his admiration of him, William had seen the way he’d changed his attitude about the entire thing. Eric approached and spoke softly to them.

"Alan went outside tae wait fer Undertaker," he whispered. "He wanted tae be at Grell’s side, but tha medics dun’ want anyone ‘cept assistants in there."

William nodded and looked back into the room at the moaning, writhing form on the bed. “If ever there were a time for haste, now would be—”

"He’s here!" Alexander Jeffries came running down the hallway, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floors. "The old guy just portaled in!" He nearly ran flat into Eric, and the Scotsman righted him.

"Keep yer bloody voice down," warned Eric. "Tha only one needs tae be screaming righ’ now is Sutcliff."

"My bad," whispered Alex. He had dark circles under his vivid eyes, and his shoulder-length, auburn hair was mussed. It was clear that he hadn’t even been to bed yet—probably up all night working on hacking Dispatch databases. He was still wearing the same t-shirt, jeans and shoes from yesterday.

"Jeffries, go to bed," ordered William sternly. "While we appreciate all of your efforts, you aren’t any good to us if you make yourself ill from lack of rest."

Alex shrugged twice in rapid suggestion. “I’m okay, boss. I’ve been recharging with energy drinks.”

He nodded rapidly, his bangs falling over his eyes. “And guess what? I finally broke through the firewall of the medical department! I ought to have that data in a couple days, if I keep it up.”

He started to bounce on his heels, unable to stand still. His eyes were glossy and reddened.

William sighed. “Eric?”

"I’ve go’ it," assured the Scotsman. He started to reach for Alex, but another hand came down on the boy’s shoulder from behind. it was the tall, blond Danish reaper that had come with them when they fled from Copenhagen.

"Alexander," he said in a deep, soft voice laced with a Scandinavian accent. "You’ve done enough for today."

The young hacker froze and turned his head slowly to look up at Fabian Olson. “Oh,” was all he could seem to manage.

"Come," insisted Fabian. "Get some rest, before you repeat the other day and end up unconscious in the bathroom."

Alex flushed bright. “Dude, that was supposed to be between us!”

"And it would have been," countered the Dane, "had you not broken your promise not to over-extend yourself. I would rather embarrass you than carry you to the infirmary. I’ll make you a drink that should counter all of the caffeine you’ve swigged down and help you sleep."

Alexander bit his lip, looked at the others and sighed. “I just got my foot in the door, though,” he mumbled, nearly pouting.

Fabian smirked. “And you can push your way through further after you’ve slept. Come.”

Eric watched in bemusement as the overworked young hacker was led away by the tall, rather imposing Dane. “Hmph…there’s a story behind tha’, I’ll bet,” he mused.

But now wasn’t the time to speculate on the nature of their relationship. Undertaker came up the stairs, wearing his black pajama set with the pink skulls on it. He even wore the fuzzy pink slippers he favored with the ensemble, and the only part of his usual attire he’d bothered to put on was his hat. Alan came up behind him as fast as he could in his condition, and Eric ran to his lover’s side to help him the rest of the way up.

"Shouldn’t be tryin’ tae run up stairs righ’ now," admonished the blond, putting an arm around Alan’s waist.

"I know, but I’m worried for Grell and his baby, too," Alan spoke, slightly out of breath, "I won’t push myself too far." he promised.

"Stop that! It’s not helping!" Grell’s cry sounded through the open door of his bedroom. "I told you to save my baby!"

Ronald stepped aside quickly so that Undertaker could rush into the room. The mortician hurried to Grell’s bedside and placed his medical case on the floor. “All right, darlin’, just calm down,” he encouraged, hurriedly opening the case and yanking his hat off. He pinned his hair back and slipped his glasses on, and he reached out to give Grell’s hands a squeeze. With his free hand, he pulled out a scanner device he’d recently procured.

"When did this start?" he asked of the medics, who were both looking quietly anxious. "Have there been contractions with the bleeding? What are his heart rate and blood pressure at?"

They clamored to give him the requested information, practically tripping over each other. Undertaker listened as he looked Grell over, still holding his hand. “Right, here’s what I want you to do,” he said to them. “One of you keep packing t’ slow the bloodflow, while I make use of this handy li’l device I’ve picked up. The other can find a small green bottle of medication in my bag. Measure out a light dose—no more than ten cc’s—and give it to him. Got that?”

"Yes sir," answered the female, and she went to retrieve said medication from the bag. The male took care of seeing to packing, while Undertaker pushed Grell’s gown up to expose his abdomen.

"Shh, love," he soothed, running it over the redhead’s straining stomach. "Try to be still a moment for me."  

"There is something wrong." Grell shook his head, tears glittering on his cheeks, "There’s something wrong!" he gripped Undertaker’s hand tighter, "It h-hurts! Save her—save her! She’s just a baby!"

The redhead hardly noticed when a needle was inserted into his arm and he was injected with the medication.

"I’m doing my best," assured the mortician, "but you’ve got to try and be still for us, yeah? Screaming and fighting us won’t help a thing, lovely."

He looked at the readings on the little screen, the scar slashing over his face tightening a bit as his mouth pulled into a frown. He said nothing, but he began to move faster. “Close that door,” he ordered, nodding at the open door where Grell’s companions could be seen peeking in from the hallway. “We need quiet and privacy.”

The door was then shut firmly, leaving Grell’s worried friends staring at a solid door.

"…I take it that means it’s even more serious than we thought…" Ronald frowned.

"Come on, standing here won’t help the wait," Alan sighed, taking Eric’s hand. "They will come get us if they need our help, until then, lets go try to down some breakfast."

* * *

 

Three hours later, Undertaker stood over his lover’s bloodied bed, holding in his hands the bundled remains of their miscarried daughter. She was so tiny…barely bigger than his fist. He stood staring numbly at the bundle in his hands, trying to fathom what had just happened. Grell had passed out from blood loss and the medics had an IV feeding a pint into him to replace it. The mortician felt dead inside. He should be mourning right now, but all he could think about was how tiny this little thing in his hands was.

"Sir? Shouldn’t we…make arrangements for disposal?"

Undertaker’s eyes flicked to the medic that spoke, and his eyes flashed. “This isn’t just medical waste…it’s my daughter. I’ll…make her a coffin. She’ll be buried, soon as her mum wakes up.”

He swallowed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t known it was so important to Grell, until he came upon the scene of the crimson reaper pleading for them to save his baby’s life. There was no amount of apologies, no amount of gifts or compassion, to make up for this loss. He carried the tiny remains over to the medical tray, and he hesitated a moment before laying them down.

"Keep it preserved," he ordered, "until I return with the casket for burial."

He stared at the premature form of the daughter he’d never have, and his lips compressed. He couldn’t stand there staring at it all day long. He exited the room slowly, removing his gloves as he went and putting his hat back on. “See to it my lady has every comfort possible. I won’t be too long.”

When he stepped outside into the hallway, everything seemed too bright—even though the skies were overcast with a coming storm. Alan and Eric approached him with anxiously questioning expressions on their faces, and the mortician grimaced and shook his head.

"We tried," he said softly. "The nipper didn’t make it."

Alan’s face fell to a look of shock and sorrow, his arms hugging his middle, “You—you mean…the baby..? Oh no.” He swallowed and stepped forward, reaching out to take the elder’s hand and give it a squeeze. The man had only just accepted that he was going to be a father, he’d just made up with Grell, and now they had lost their child… He couldn’t imagine the sorrow they felt, and he didn’t know what else to do.

Undertaker looked down at the hand holding his, unable to react. He didn’t know what to feel, right now. “Just look after Grell,” he requested, tugging his hand out of Alan’s grip. “I’ll be back by this evening with a coffin for the…child. I think I may have some unfinished ones for infants in my basement.”

He walked past them without another word, focusing dimly on the sound of his own booted footsteps.

"Oi, we can come up wi’ somethin’ here," Eric called after him. "Ya ought tae stay wi’ Grell, Undertaker. He needs ya righ’ now."

If anyone knew a thing or two about abandoning a lover in a time of need, it was the Scotsman. Grell was already unstable as it was.

"I need to find a proper coffin for the nipper," insisted the mortician without another glance back. "Just watch over her mum for me, ‘till I get back."

Eric grimaced, and he started after him. William came up behind them just in time to hear the exchange, and he extended his scythe to block the Scotsman. “Let him go, Slingby,” advised Will softly. “I doubt any of us could stop him, anyhow.”

Eric took a deep breath, his gaze flicking to his partner. If it were him, he wouldn’t be able to leave Alan’s side for a moment. Then again, there was really no telling how someone might react to the shock of losing a baby. He put an arm around his partner, placing one hand protectively over the mound of his abdomen.

"I hope tae hell he’s no’ thinkin’ of abandoning him. Seems pretty cold and unfeelin’ of him tae skip out so soon."

William frowned, glancing over the banister as the tall, silver ancient made it to the lobby and headed out the door, quiet as death itself. “Our perceptions aren’t necessarily the truth. For now, we must look to keeping our haven secure and helping Sutcliff as best we can.”

"Everyone has a different way of grieving, Eric," interjected Alan. "Undertaker has been a loner for so long…maybe he finds the most comfort in being alone. We can’t blame him for this reaction to loosing his unborn child. Plus…he’s an undertaker by trade. This is probably the most important body he’s ever had to ready for burial. He’s not going to let her be sent off in anything less than his best. Let him go make a special coffin…it may help him more than we realize."

He sighed and frowned over his shoulder at Grell’s room door, “…I’m going to go sit with Grell.” he decided out loud, pulling away from Eric to enter the room.

Eric watched him go helplessly, and he looked at William. “I jus’…if it were me…”

"It isn’t you, though," reminded William. "The Undertaker’s reactions may seem cold to you, but none of us know precisely how much he’s lost in his long life. Now if you will excuse me, I need to check the fortifications."

He excused himself and left Eric in the hallway. The Scotsman sighed and peeked in on his lover, who had gone to Grell’s bedside to hold his hand. He couldn’t fill the missing void of Grell’s child or lover, but he could at least join Alan in supporting him. He walked in as well, trying not to let his disdain for Undertaker’s actions eat at him too much.

* * *

 

"Right, this should be about the proper size," muttered the Undertaker some twenty minutes later. He sighed heavily, and he got out the paint and wood-burning tools to customize the tiny coffin. He sat down at his work table to perfect it, his eyes burning as he pinned his hair back and put his glasses on to get to work.

"What might have we named you, li’l girl?" he whispered as he engraved the miniature coffin. He could think of one name he might have given his daughter, had he known they were having a girl before the miscarriage. He closed his eyes briefly, aching to his very core.

He swallowed again as he finished, and he painted the whole of the coffin black, before filling the lettering in with gold. He then painted pink roses around the exterior of it, and he left it for a few hours to finish drying. He sat at his dining table and had a cheerless, cold meal of leftovers, staring blankly at nothing. He hadn’t even wanted this child. Didn’t really believe it was real, until he felt it move.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, angry with himself above all. He couldn’t afford to feel like this right now. It wouldn’t do anyone a bit of good. He shoved his emotions into a mental box, cleaned up his dishes and collected the finished coffin to bring back to the rebel base.

It was just another body…not his baby girl. He couldn’t think of it that way. If he allowed it, he might just go completely off his rocker. “Wish me luck, dearies,” he called to his sleeping “children”. He created the portal and stepped through it.

* * *

 

"He’s back," announced Alex, having slept most of the day away. The sun was setting when he noticed the portal and the black-robed figure stepping out of it at sunset. He spoke over the secured phone line, letting his allies know that the incoming visitor wasn’t hostile. "It’s just Undertaker. Everyone keep it chill and stand down."

The mortician stepped through the portal, holding a small coffin in his hands. His pale features were still and humorless for once, and Ronald was there to meet him. “Evenin’, lad,” greeted the ancient softly to the younger reaper. “Well, y’ know why I’m back, no doubt. How’s my lady fairing?”

Ronald shook head. “Hasn’t said a single word since he woke up. Won’t eat, either…just stares at nothing with a look like he’s dead inside—or like he’ll murder anyone who dares suggest he tries to eat… It’s scary, really. We’ve been waiting for you to come back…thought maybe he’ll respond to you a little…”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Man, he really sucked at comforting people. “I’m sorry for what happened,” he muttered as they came to the doors of the lobby and he opened them for the elder. It was really all he could think of to say.

"No need to waste hollow words on me," answered the mortician softly. "I’m here to bury the nipper properly. There’s naught more t’ do for the situation."

He progressed into the resort with grim purpose, looking neither left nor right. “I assume the block-heads working as your medics at least kept enough sense to preserve the body, Mr. Knox?”

"They weren’t hollow…" Ronald muttered, following the man. "I think so…they put it in some liquid… but it’s still in Grell’s room…he screamed at them when they tried to take it out so that it wouldn’t upset Grell further."

Undertaker paused, looking over his shoulder at the blond. For a moment, a hint of emotion flickered in his gaze, before it became opaque once more. “I see. Good enough.”

He ascended the stairs quietly, barely making a whisper of sound. Reapers moved aside in his wake, and when he reached the top of the stairs, he took a deep breath. Still holding the little coffin in his hands, he made his way to Grell’s room. He could hear quiet weeping from within, and he passed by Eric Slingby and William T. Spears.

"Grell," he murmured once he entered the room, "I’m here to collect and bury…our daughter."

Grell slowly lifted his head and looked tearfully up at the man who would have been the father of his little angel. His fringe clung to his wet cheeks, and his lower lip trembled as he parted them as if to speak. But instead of words, a wail of sorrow escaped and he threw himself forward, his fingers grasping Undertaker’s robes as he sobbed into his chest, kneeling on his bed still.

This was possibly the worst pain he could have ever experienced, and he was utterly powerless to ease it. Undertaker stroked his lover’s hair absently, at a complete loss. “It’s done, love. We tried our best…but it’s done.”

"…Why…" The redhead hiccupped. He wanted someone to be angry at, someone to blame for the miscarriage. But there was no one. Undertaker and the two medics had worked so hard at trying to save her… not even a hint of blame could be placed on any of them. He could let out the sorrow, but he couldn’t do anything with the anger hidden within his emotions. All he could do was cry.

Undertaker shook his head, having no answer for that question. Sometimes these things just happened—particularly with male pregnancies. Not all Shinigami males could carry, and those who could had no guarantee of making it past the second trimester. That was why prenatal care was so important.

"Stress, mayhap," he reasoned softly, still stroking Grell’s hair. "Your body just couldn’t take it. We’ll give the nipper a proper burial."

Grell gave a weak nod and pulled back, wiping away the tears under his eyes as he sniffled. “I wanted her…I wanted to raise her… dress her up and play games with her…hold her…”

It was a bit shocking to hear Grell Sutcliff say these things, but then, the crimson reaper had many layers that nobody had yet explored. Undertaker wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t know how. Saying they could try again seemed like a foolish suggestion right now, and he honestly didn’t know if he was willing to chance such disappointment again, himself.

"I’m sorry, love," he murmured helplessly. "Some things just aren’t meant t’ be. Would you like to see her, before she’s consigned to the ground?"

There really wasn’t much to see. The fetus was tiny; about six inches long at best. Still, he’d had his chance to gaze upon her and it was only right that the mother get the opportunity as well, before they said their final goodbyes.

Grell nodded and took a shaky breath. “I…I want to hold her,” he confirmed. It was the only thing he’d be able to do out of the list of things he’d dreamed of doing with his child.

"Right," sighed the mortician. He went over to the pan where they’d preserved the body in liquid, and he retrieved one of the unused towels to dry it off and swaddle it. Swallowing silently, he cradled the tiny body in his hands and carried her over to Grell. "There you are," he said, gently handing the fetus over.

It occurred to him that they hadn’t discussed a name for her. “What will we call her?”

It seemed like such a pointless gesture now, but it was somehow important to him. He wanted something to call her in his head, besides the daughter that wasn’t to be. She deserved at least that much from him.

Grell cradled the body as if it were a fully grown, living newborn. He took a shaky breath and shook his head, “I hadn’t started to think about names yet… I…” he choked on his words and swallowed, “I imagined her having mommy’s hair and daddy’s smile…”

Undertaker gazed down at the still, tiny body of their child. There was one name that kept floating around in his head, but he hadn’t had the opportunity to discuss it with Grell. “Isabelle, then?”

Grell considered the suggestion with a heavy heart before responding, “Isabella.” he suggested.

The mortician nodded, looking away from the bundle in Grell’s arms. “Lovely name. I’ll give you a moment with her, before we put her in her coffin.”

He left the room then, keeping his gaze lowered as he passed through the door and walked past the reapers waiting in the hallway. He ignored their looks of pity, heading straight for the stairs so that he could get out of this building and scout out an ideal spot to bury his daughter.

* * *

 

Grell rocked his daughter in his arms, humming a tearful tune.

"Grell…" Ronald started to say, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but Grell responded before he could.

"Top drawer…" he whispered painfully, "over in that chest…top drawer…"

Ronald blinked and nodded, walking over to open the drawer. Inside, he found a crudely knitted baby booty made of red yarn. The string was loose and unfinished. It was obviously made by someone just learning. He picked up the bootie and brought it over to Grell, holding it out to him.

The redhead took it and gave another sad smile, “Mama made this for you… Keep it…it’ll keep you nice and warm with—with mommy’s love…”

Eric stood outside the door listening, bearing a pensive frown on his face. He looked across the hallway at his lover, and it occurred to him how fleeting happiness could be. Crossing the distance, he knelt before Alan—who was seated on the sofa against the wall.

"Alan? I know its no’ tha best time tae be asking ya this, but I’ve been thinkin’ of it fer a while. I’d like it if we go’ married. I…wanted tae wait for th’ right opportunity, but this whole situation made me realize there might no’ be such a time."

He reached into the pocket of his blazer, and he hesitantly produced the little jewelry box housing the engagement band he’d procured, just before he defected.

"Been holdin’ on tae this fer a while," he murmured, opening it up to reveal the rose gold band. "I wanted tae give it to yeh at jus’ tha right moment, but…I cannae be sure tha’ moment exists. I’d really like it if ye’d think on it, sweetheart. I dun’ need an answer right away, but this whole mess…wull…I just cannae keep it tae myself any longer. I’m sorry tha timing’s so awful."

"You…have the absolute worst timing." Alan blinked. He, of course, already knew his answer, but it felt so inappropriate to smile and laugh and hug Eric tight as he answered him with kisses.

He felt their baby start kicking again, and he took Eric’s hand, placing it over the spot. He then offered a weak smile, “We already have your answer, and I’m sorry I can’t be more enthusiastic about giving it to you…” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips.

They hadn’t been together as lovers long at all, but none of that mattered. They had been partners for years and before that, student and mentor. There were times before they were dating that people would point out how much they acted like a married couple. This was just making it official.

"The kiss means ‘yes’." he whispered.

Eric smiled in relief, and he took the ring out to place it on Alan’s finger. “Thank ya, sweetheart. Like I said, I know it’s no’ a good time tae propose, but it seemed more important now than ever.”

He finished slipping the ring on and he placed his hand over Alan’s belly, feeling their child moving. His smile faded into a little frown, and he impulsively laid his cheek against the swell of his partner’s abdomen. He couldn’t find the words to explain his actions. He was just…grateful. Their baby was safe and healthy. He felt awful for Grell and Undertaker, and after having adjusted to the idea of fatherhood, he knew he would be devastated, if it were him.

"I love ya both," he finally said, putting his arms around Alan. He kissed his tummy and sighed. "I couldnae live wi’out yeh."

"Eric…" Alan waited for the man to look up at him before cupping his chin and guiding him back upwards into a kiss, "We both love you, too. Just as much. Things are going to start getting more dangerous…so be careful, okay?"

Eric nodded and smiled, laying a hand over one of Alan’s. “Ye’ve go’ mah word, lover. I’ve go’ too much tae live for, tae start gettin’ reckless now.”

He pulled one of Alan’s hands away from his face to turn it over and press a kiss into the palm of it. “Yer mah heart, Alan…everythin’ worth living for. I won’t let either of ya down.”

* * *

 

_~Oh, there is not enough suck in the world to describe how bad this sucks..~_

That was all that ran through Alexander Jeffries’ mind as they stood around the burial site and witnessed the Undertaker consigning his and Grell’s stillborn offspring to the ground.

_~Really, really sucky. I should…I should do something. Maybe some salt…~_

One look at Ronald Knox was enough to make him rethink his impulsive reactions. “Nasty pocket salt,” he called it. He and others didn’t understand the emotional and spiritual significance behind it…except maybe Alan. The small brunet stood beside his partner, with his eyes downcast and his gentle features solemn. His hands rested over his extended abdomen, and Eric had one arm around him. No, not even Alan would understand his gesture, if he chose to act on his unconventional instincts right now.

Awkwardly, Alex inched away from Fabian and over to Grell, and he patted the grieving redhead’s arm. “I’m really sorry,” he offered in a whisper. Gods, the poor thing looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over, and Undertaker was like a pillar of ice. The mortician moved stiffly, insisting upon piling the dirt on top of the tiny grave himself.

It was just bloody awful.

Grell slowly glanced up at him, taking a shaky breath, “…What did I do wrong?” he whispered, eyes falling back down to the grave, watching as dirt was shoveled onto the tiny casket. “Why did fate take her? I—I have many sins, she had none…”

Alex had no clue of how to give any kind of useful response, so he just shook his head and awkwardly dug out the handkerchief he kept in his blazer. “I…I don’t know, Miss Sutcliff. You didn’t do anything wrong. It just…happened.”

He patted Grell’s shoulder, feeling perfectly wretched and helpless. “Um…can I hug you? Do you need a hug?”

Gods, why couldn’t he just…communicate? He bit his lower lip and his eyes stung with the promise of tears. It was just so damned awful.

Grell took the awkward invitation, pulling the younger reaper into a hug and sniffling against his shoulder. His whole world had been thrown off its tracks, it felt. He hadn’t even had the energy to dress himself properly in layers of lovely red, or do his makeup. He wore a rather plain black dress with red lace around the cuffs. He had it to wear under more layers, usually. But it fit his mourning mood.

Ronald watched Undertaker shovel the dirt, sure each load felt heavier than the last to the grieving father as he finished burying his daughter. He stepped forward, having found some white lilies and a single white rose, and he lay them down atop the grave.

Undertaker paused as he watched the flowers drift onto the gave, and he looked at the young reaper. “Thanks, lad,” he offered, his voice hushed as though he feared to wake the infant he’d just finished burying.

William came up beside Ronald and he kept one hand on his shoulder, whilst adding a flower of his own. “This is a terrible tragedy. If there is anything we can do for you or for Grell, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Undertaker gave the brunet a tight, pained smile. “Just…look after my lady for me. That’s the best any of y’ can do, right now.”

He looked over to Grell, who was still being comforted by Alexander. With a little sigh, he tipped the brim of his hat. “Well now, I’d best be off.”

Eric frowned at the mortician in confusion. “Yer leavin’ now, at a time like this?” He broke away from Alan’s embrace to step forward. “Sir…Grell needs ya; an’ ya need tae take time out tae grieve yerself. Ya jus’ finished buryin’ yer daughter an’—”

"I’m well-aware of what just happened, Mr. Slingby," said the mortician abruptly before Eric could finish, "and I’m also aware that Dispatch won’t stop moving just ‘cause I’ve suffered a loss. That’s the brutal, cold truth of it. I can’t let this break me. Take care of Grell for me, ‘till I can come back."

Eric frowned at him as the Undertaker formed a portal. “Runnin’ away won’t solve it,” he challenged. “Trust me, I know!”

The mortician smirked at him humorlessly. “Call it whatever you like, Slingby. Personal feelings still have no bearing on what the enemy does. They aren’t going to take a break to honor our greif.”

Eric watched helplessly as the mortician vanished through the portal, and he joined Alexander in trying to comfort poor Grell. He had no words to offer his friend, and so he just embraced him and tried to give him the support that the father of his dead baby evidently could not manage himself.

"I’m sae sorry, Grell," he whispered. "Stay wi’ Al an’ I t’night, if ya dun’ wanna be alone. It’s a’right."

Grell glanced up at Eric and shook his head, “No…I’ll be fine.” he muttered slowly, pulling away from Alex. He then strolled across to Alan, reaching out to touch his rounded belly, “Take care of yours, do what I was unable to, Allie.” He gave a sad smile and brushed Alan’s hair out of his face, “Be a better mommy than me.”

The redhead turned away and ran his fingers over the grave marker, “My little angel… I’m so…so sorry.” He knelt down and kissed the marker. “I love you more than anything—always.”

Eric turned away helplessly, while William surprised both himself and others by going to Grell’s side. He laid a hand over the grieving reaper’s shoulder and he spoke softly to him. “You did nothing wrong, Sutcliff. This was no fault of yours.”

"I could not carry her to term…I couldn’t even carry her to a month where she’d still have a chance at life before my body rejected her…" Grell shook his head.

William stroked Grell’s tense back. “Still no fault of yours. Grell, you cannot blame yourself for any of this. You did all that you could. You got away from Dispatch when you realized your condition, and you tried. Nothing more could be expected of you.”

He quietly resented the father of Grell’s lost child for leaving so abruptly. He was considered rather heartless himself, but that was lower than even he could fathom.

"…Where did Unnie go?" Grell whispered, looking around at the gathering. He hadn’t realized that the man left, and right now, he had no desire to do anything but curl up in his lover’s arms and share the pain until it became more bearable.

"Did he…go inside already?"

William lowered his gaze. “I’m afraid the Undertaker took his leave and portaled back to London. I…cannot say what was going through his mind, Sutcliff. Perhaps he wishes for time alone.”

Off to the right, Eric compressed his lips and he put his arm around Alan. He kept his mouth shut but he really had no kind thoughts for Undertaker. How could he just abandon his mate, after losing a child? He’d more or less done something of the same with Alan, but had he known…he sighed and shook his head. He could try and work it out in his head all he liked, but he wasn’t the one suffering the loss of a baby, right now.

"I…well, this is a really shitty time to bring it up," Alexander said hesitantly, coming up to Eric and Alan, "but…I broke through the medical database. I think I can…get the treatment you were after, Mr. Slingby. Sorry about the timing but…I thought you should know."

Eric looked at his betrothed, and he recalled that the treatment Alex spoke of would require the Undertaker’s help. He’d have to put his personal misgivings about the mortician’s behavior aside, for the sake of his partner. “Thanks, Alex. We really appreciate it.”

Alexander nodded and cast a worried look at Grell. “No problem.”

Grell scowled at the news he was given. Undertaker left him? First he left him for being pregnant, and then he did the same when he lost the baby? Just what was the man’s problem?!

The redhead felt another rush of anger and resentment for the man fill him, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he stood up straight.

"…Oh." he took a shaky breath and lingered a moment, his fingers on his daughter’s grave marker before he turned and started back up towards their safe house, aiming to lock himself away in his room to deal with his loss alone.

His companions watched him go, none of them feeling that he should be alone, yet all of them unwilling to intrude upon his silent grief. Alexander made a face, looking around at the other reapers. “Shouldn’t…someone go after him?”

William shook his head. “Not now, Jeffries. Give him a moment.”

* * *

-To be continued


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

He stood in the center of the Highgate cemetery in northern London, contemplating where recent events of his life had taken him. Dispatch as he knew it...gone. Lawrence Anderson...gone. His past...well, that might as well be gone too. Most of all, the child he could have had was also gone; taken by fate before it could even come into the world—and he still didn't know how to react to that. He'd tried to comfort the mother when the miscarriage happened, tried to be there in his own awkward way. His comfort was rejected; and rightfully so, considering he hadn't been there for Grell from the beginning.

"What a miserable ol' sod I am," he muttered to himself, tucking the brim of his hat lower over his flowing silver hair. He stood over the little grave he'd made for the baby, bearing nothing but the wooden rattle he'd fashioned for her in a poor gesture of fatherly attention. He'd been planning to present it to her upon birth; even if he had to send it via his associates because the mother wanted nothing to do with him. The baby's actual remains were laid to rest elsewhere.

Undertaker knelt down before the fresh, small grave he'd dug himself, and he deposited a black rose from his own bushes out back his shop. He bowed his head and tried to come up with the words his heart needed to get out. He was terrible at this sort of thing. He wasn't practiced at being sincere, and he honestly hadn't expected this loss to sting this much.

"It's not true; what they say about me not caring," began the mortician, closing his eyes. "Daddy's just awful at showing grief. I'm used to _celebrating_ death. See, I've spent so much time in the company of it, I think I just took it for granted what it's like to actually _lose_ someone. Didn't even expect myself to care _this_ much...but I do. I just don't show it 'round other folks."

He swallowed and nodded, reaching out to touch the little marker he'd placed down. "I know you're not in there, nipper, but I feel like mayhap you can hear me anyways. I'm sorry. Daddy's sorry. But we'll get 'em, won't we? Me and my other 'children'."

The rattle was buried near hundreds of said 'children', in fact...all sleeping in the ground, waiting for the command that would wake them to serve their purpose. It had started as an experimental process, of course...a means to assuage his curiosity about life and death. When things with Dispatch began to steadily slide downhill, he stopped worrying about perfecting the process and instead concentrated on mass production...just in case. Without the right nudge from him, they'd remain dormant indefinitely—until their bodies finally rotted away. It would be a much slower process than with ordinary dead, of course...possibly even a human lifetime. He'd done his work well. They were created to endure, to withstand damage that would kill a mortal and keep going with a single-minded purpose.

"Nothin' to worry about," Undertaker assured his daughter, forcing a smile. "Daddy's got it all handled. Nothing'll happen to Mummy while I'm still 'round. That's my promise. Pity I can't offer more than that."

He heard the warning caw of a raven, and he sensed the approach of other reapers. They weren't linked to him like the others, so far away—and they weren't offering any friendly or pacifying announcements as they began to converge on him from all sides. He must have been too distracted to sense their portals activating, but he was quite aware of them now.

Undertaker smiled and stood up slowly, removing his hat. "And now, here they come poking about where they oughtn't," he said to his daughter. He placed the top-hat carefully on her grave marker, winding the liripipe around the brim. "Mind Daddy's hat now, darlin'."

"Undertaker," called out a British voice, "we have come to place you under arrest for aiding and abetting—"

"Oh, shut it," snapped the ancient, a mad, white grin plastered on his pale lips. "I know what you blokes 'r here for. No need to bore me with formalities."

A tall fellow with a long brown ponytail and sideburns stepped out from the foliage and into the moonlight, flanked on either side by other reapers that the mortician did not recognize. "Very well then, sir. We would prefer this not to get ugly. If you come along peacefully, we shall be lenient. We could possibly even work out an agreement to spare you imprisonment altogether."

"Hmm, that so?" The mortician chewed a long black fingernail, pretending to consider the proposal. "First, answer me this: Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

The reapers looked at one another in confusion. He could feel the others behind and around him, closing in further. He just grinned.

"We have no time for this," decided the spokesperson of the group. "Come, sir, we would rather not have to use force, but—"

He stopped as the ground began to shake, looking around warily. The others held their scythes at ready as well, fully aware of how unpredictable their target could be.

"Took too long to answer the question, mate." Undertaker shrugged.

Earth broke apart and headstones toppled and cracked. Wood splintered from caskets and suddenly, the mortician was no longer alone. With shocking speed, animated bodies began to crawl out of the ground like cockroaches. The stitching holding their mouths closed after embalmment had been cut, and their dead mouths gaped wide to emit hungry, other-worldly shrieks.

Though they were aware of his experiments with the dead, the agents clearly weren't expecting an entire graveyard to rise and attack them. Chaos erupted as the Undertaker's would-be captors were forced to fend off his minions, and the mortician gave a graceful, sweeping bow as their leader yelled in protest. His long locks touched the soil and he laughed as he straightened up.

"Ahh, but don't worry," he soothed, "I won't let my children fight alone."

He summoned his death scythe—a great, classic weapon with a skull crowning the tang and a wickedly sharp, intricate blade arching out from said skull. He'd reaped thousands of souls with this legendary weapon, and now he was about to reap a few more.

* * *

 

He teleported back to his shop in exhaustion, cut in various places from the struggle but still in much better shape than the agents that came for him. Panting softly, he used his scythe as a walking staff and he started toward the back. He needed to gather supplies to take with him. He obviously could not remain where he was any longer.

Undertaker made it three steps before he noticed the shadowed figure in the corner of the shop. He heard a mechanical click and he froze as the voice spoke in the darkness. "Who are you with, Undertaker?"

He straightened up painfully, squinting. "Eh? Who th' bloody hell are you?"

The figure stepped into the moonlight streaming through the window, still holding a gun on him. He could not immediately recognize him, having no spectacles to aid his vision. The voice was familiar, however.

"I would rather not have to pull this trigger, old friend."

Undertaker's eyes widened, and he dragged his bangs out of his eyes. "Lawrence? That you, old mate?"

The shadowed male figure smiled. "Whom else might you be expecting?"

Undertaker hobbled over to him, bleeding on the floor in the process. "I _knew_ it! I knew they were wrong. They said you were dead, but..." He could tell that this was the _real_ Lawrence Anderson, and not some imposter. He smiled, more than happy to see him. He started to cough, and blood speckled his lips. Lawrence caught him as the mortician began to collapse.

"Oh goodness, you're in very bad shape. I wanted to come sooner, but...oh, hell. Undertaker, you need medical attention."

"Think so?" gasped the mortician with a rough chuckle. "Ah, help me stand. We can't stay here, chap. Have to...get out. They'll come soon."

Lawrence nodded. "Of course. I've no idea where you've been going, though."

"I can...portal," coughed Undertaker. "Just help me walk through it, mate."

He created the portal to the rebel hideout, and he started to black out just as his friend lifted him into his arms to carry him through.

* * *

Alan sat out on the terrace with a nice hot cup of tea and a pile of papers he was sorting through before the group's next big meeting. Knowing that he was pregnant, he came to the conclusion that he would not engage directly in any fighting or missions, even after giving birth. He wanted to stay with his baby. So, he volunteered to work behind the scenes rather than as a field agent. Helping with communications and their group's intellect on what dispatch was doing. He couldn't hack their system like Alex, but there were other ways for him to be useful.

Sighing, he relaxed back against the back of his chair and picked up his teacup, looking out over the ocean as he sipped - just in time to see a portal open and two men stumble out.

Alan gasped and stood up, looking out to identify the two men. Undertaker he recognized right off, but Anderson...was it the impostor? He had no way of knowing. All he knew was that Undertaker looked... hurt. Anderson could be helping him...or forcing him to lead him to their hide-out.

The brunet sounded the alarm, shouting into the safe house about the two men down on the beach. A group of reapers came out armed and ready, led by William T. Spears. With him were Eric, Ronald and Fabian. The group intercepted Lawrence before he got halfway up the path to the estate, and the old eyeglass maker found himself with the tip of William's scythe against his throat.

"I understand how this must look," said Anderson calmly, "but I am not the enemy."

"That remains to be seen," answered William with narrowed eyes. "It was reported to us that Lawrence Anderson was assassinated like so many others in management; replaced by an imposter. Who are you?"

"I assure you, I am Lawrence Anderson," insisted the older reaper, "and our friend here requires immediate medical attention. Take me into custody if you will—I shan't resist. Just see to the Undertaker's injuries, please."

"How'd he get them?" demanded Eric.

"Enemies of Dispatch, as I understand it," answered Lawrence readily. "I went to his shop to discover whose side he is on, and he returned in this condition. I will explain everything, but you must see to his injuries."

William stared at the bleeding form in Lawrence's arms, and he nodded. "Slingby and Olson, take the Undertaker from him...and be gentle. Knox and I shall disarm Father Anderson—if that is who he truly is—and question him."

The Dane and the Scotsman readily complied, easing the Undertaker out of Lawrence's arms and carrying him carefully up the path, while Will and Ron stayed behind to relieve the suspicious reaper of his weapons. The fact that he had a gun on him as well as his cane sword scythe came off even more suspicious to William. He couldn't imagine Father Anderson using such a weapon, but then, this situation had given rise to desperate measures for all of them.

"Tell me," he said to Anderson as he cuffed him. "If you _are_ Father Anderson, where have you been for all this time?"

"In hiding, like yourselves," answered the older reaper. "I was given a choice by my would-be-assassin; fake my own death and vanish, or refuse and be cut down. Not all of the usurpers are completely merciless, lad. Since then, I have been living in hiding in the English countryside, on the mortal plane, along with a small group of others who escaped. We heard rumors that some of the agents presumed dead were actually still alive somewhere, but we had no idea how to reach any of you. For months, we have been working with the Shinigami underground, trying to find others like ourselves and manufacturing gun scythes like the enemy, in the hopes that using the more advanced weapons might give us a chance against them."

"And you just now decided to go to the Undertaker?" pressed William. "Why not before?"

"I was terribly injured, Mr. Spears. I said that my assassin allowed me to live; but there was a struggle before it came to that and I was bleeding quite a few reels were drawn. He could have finished me, but he chose not to at the last moment. I barely got away with my life, and I only recently regained enough strength to defend myself, should I run into opposition. I presume the same reaper took on my identity and reported me dead to his superiors."

"I see." William wanted to believe him...wanted dearly to believe that this was truly Father Anderson, but they had to be very careful. "My apologies sir, but I have a colony of reapers to consider. Their safety must come first. Ronald, go and fetch Alexander Jeffries. I want him to scan this man for tracers and bugs, before we bring him to the dwelling."

Ronald nodded. "But hey, if this guy's legit, think I could get one of the gun scythes?"

"This isn't the time, Knox!" Huffed one of the reapers flanking Anderson, "Go!"

"I'm going already! Geeze."

The blond hurried to Alex's room and knocked on the door. "Hey Salty! We need your skills down at the beach."

Alexander jerked awake, having gone down for a nap after his guard shift. "Wha...? He pulled the covers aside and stumbled out of bed, his hair hanging in his eyes as he went to the door. He opened it a crack, and he scratched a spot on his stomach above his boxers. "Oh, Knox," he yawned. "Whassup?"

"So-called Pops Anderson just showed up. We need you to make sure he's not bugged or anything before we bring him inside and see if he's the real Pops or the fake one. He showed up with the old kook Undertaker looking nearly dead," the blond explained.

"Oh hell...really? Uh...give me a sec to put some clothes and shoes on, and I'll be right down."

Alex shut the door without ceremony and went to the dresser to dig out a random selection. A few moments later, he stepped out in a pair of brown slacks, black sneakers, a purple sweater and his favorite black cap. In his hands he held one of his custom made scanning devices.

"All right, lemon, let's see what's what."

Ronald blinked at Alex when he heard the nickname, but shrugged. "Better than 'Mustard Seed'." he muttered to himself before leading the tech-savvy reaper out to where William and a few others were holding Anderson.

"Got him!" He announced as they drew closer.

William stepped aside and ushered the other two reapers away from either side of Lawrence so that none of their personal items could interfere with the scan. "Please begin, Mister Jeffries."

Alexander switched on the device, and he began to run it over Anderson's body without actually touching him, slowly scanning him from head to toe. The process took a little while due to it being a hand-held object. Eventually he finished the process and he shut it off.

"He's clean, boss," announced Alex. "I should probably check any weapons you took off him too, though."

William nodded and handed over the gun and the more classic model scythe for Alex's inspection. The auburn-haired reaper scanned those thoroughly as well, and he shook his head and handed them back. "Nothing on those, either, sir. If he's bugged, it's with micro-technology too advanced for me to pick up. I don't like to brag, but that's not very likely."

William stared at the elder, and hope stirred in his breast. "Father Anderson. Words cannot describe how you have been missed."

Lawrence smiled a bit. "Good to know, son. Now, may I accompany you to check on the Undertaker's condition? I've no idea how many agents he faced down before returning to his shop, but their numbers must have been impressive."

William was interested in having those questions answered himself. "You may visit him under my supervision. Understand that every new addition to our camp must undergo lie detection tests and agree to link with the rest of us, before being accepted as a trusted ally. I wish it were otherwise."

"I understand, son," assured Lawrence. "In such troubled times, one can't be too careful. Just remember, I have a group of more allies to bring to you, when your people are satisfied with my trustworthiness."

* * *

 

"They came after me in the cemetery," Undertaker explained drowsily when William returned with Lawrence and Ronald. "Too bad for them I had some hidden allies buried in the ground."

Ronald shivered. "Just how many places do you have those things hidden? I'm beginning to think that I should suspect every dead body is really a doll of yours."

He sighed and dropped himself into his own seat. "I take it this means they no longer see you as being neutral? That you're going to be moving in with us now? What about all them dolls you have under your shop? Will we still be able to use them?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," assured the mortician with a cough. "They'll be fine where they are 'till I'm good and ready to loose 'em. Even if Dispatch burns my shop to the ground, they'll never find either entrance to my catacombs. There's two of 'em, y' know. One from the shop basement, and one from the sewers."

He smiled, the expression faintly ghastly with his lips and teeth stained with his blood. "And to answer your first question, Mr. Knox, I've got my children hiding all over London. I'm down about twenty now, but that wasn't the only graveyard I'd stashed 'em in. Got a warehouse I was starting to fill, too. Our biggest concern is going t' be getting them all through a portal to the other side when it comes time t' make our move."

"Dear gods, man," sighed Lawrence. "When did you find the time?"

"Like I told our young friends," sighed Undertaker, "I've been mass producing since things first started going sour. Five to ten a day, depending on the death toll. It's been a bit tricky t' do it without attracting too much attention from those blokes that took over Dispatch, but I don't need the _entire_ reel of their cinematic records to do my handiwork, after all. Just enough to reanimate them. It's just been a matter of getting to the bodies before their agents do and snipping what I need, leaving the rest for them t' collect. Then I go back when they're gone, collect the bodies and that's that."

"As nice as it'll be having them things on our side when the fighting officially breaks out... It's real creepy how you can have so many," Ronald pointed out, "Legendary reaper...legendary doll maker, more like it. How long have you known Dispatch was going sour to have saved up so many dolls at ten a day, anyway?" He tried to do the math, but he was unable to as he didn't know the exact number Undertaker had hidden away all over London-if not England as a whole.

Undertaker shrugged, then winced at the motion. He glanced at the young medic working over his injuries critically. "Easy with th' needle, lad. It's an arm; not a bloody dartboard."

The medic flushed as he withdrew the syringe. "Sorry, sir. I should have warned you, first."

Undertaker sighed again, leaving off further criticism to address Ron's question. "I've known something was peculiar since the first time they came a-knocking, tryin' to recruit me. Dispatch has never done that, before. They always respected my decision to retire in the past, so I had a feeling something was changing. Didn't know it was _that_ drastic, of course, but I reckoned I should start fortifying. I only made a handful at first, 'till they came 'round a second and third time. By then, I knew I might need more than a half-dozen dollies…and then I found Mr. Spears in a spot of trouble. That was when I started mass-producing 'em."

"Well, that seems logical," remarked William. He frowned. "At least, for you."

Undertaker chortled dryly with amusement. "Right. Logic of a madman. So tell me, how's Miss Sutcliff holding up?"

"...Not so great." Ronald shrugged. "Depressed half the time, refusing to come out of his room or away from the baby's grave... angry the rest of the time. I think at you because you didn't stay with him to help him deal with the loss, based on how he reacted to finding that you had left at the funeral. Hate to tell ya, but you just keep fucking up with your relationship."

"Ronald," uttered William admonishingly, embarrassed by his crude observation. "I apologize on behalf of Knox, sir. He often speaks without thinking, and your own grief should be taken into consideration."

Undertaker sighed and shut his eyes. "No, the chap's right. I fucked up. Couldn't deal with my own grief, so I left Grell to suffer through his alone. You know, I never intended to procreate. Didn't know how t' feel about it, until I felt the baby move. I'm not the best when it comes to handling loss, but that's a piss-poor excuse."

He opened his eyes, and they were haunted as he peered at them through the part in his bangs. "Don't suppose I could see him? 'Course, that's assuming he'd even want to be in the same room with me."

"That's up to Senpai." Ron shrugged, unaffected by William's slight scolding. "Knock on his door once you can get up. Or one of us can go try to talk to him for ya and see if he's willing to see you." he offered.

"I'll go," said William. "I think he will want to hear the news that you're back as well, Father Anderson. It may cheer him."

Lawrence didn't immediately respond, because he was shocked by the news that his old friend and Grell Sutcliff had been expecting a child…and lost it. He looked up at Spears from his seat by Undertaker's bed, and he gave a polite nod. "If it will help, then by all means. I had no idea."

He turned his attention back to the mortician. "I'm so terribly sorry for your loss, old friend."

Undertaker returned the pressure of his supportive hand. "So am I, mate. So am I."

* * *

 

William left the room and went to Grell's chambers, knocking softly on the door. "Sutcliff? There is someone here that wishes to see you. _Two_ someone's, in fact. Will you come out?"

The door creaked open a crack, just enough for Grell to peek out, showing a sliver of his body. "Who?" he questioned, his eye scanning the hall for anyone who may have accompanied William to his door.

"The Undertaker," replied William, bracing for an outburst, "and the real Lawrence Anderson, as well. He brought Undertaker to us after the former was injured fighting off enemy Dispatch agents that attacked him. It seems Father Anderson has been alive all this time after all, and in hiding. We have confirmed his identity, and I thought you would like to know. They are both down the hall in the room assigned for medical treatment."

William gazed into the redhead's eyes, sensing his ambiguity. "I realize you may not wish to see the Undertaker just yet, but I'm afraid he will be with us for some time. Evidently, Dispatch knows he has been helping us, so he cannot return home. I think it would be best if the two of you at least tried to make peace. That decision is yours, however."

Grell didn't move, but he didn't scream, either. Not a sign of such a fit as he had shown each time the Undertaker had been mentioned within earshot of the redhead.

"Why would I go see him? He obviously wants nothing to do with me." he stated in a low, deathly calm tone that lacked any expected emotions.

"Actually, I must disagree with that assertion," explained William calmly. "He has asked for you, in fact. Grell, I won't pretend to be an authority on good relationships, but from what I have witnessed, he _does_ genuinely care for you…and I know you feel the same. I will not press the issue, but I feel I must inform you of that, at least. I can arrange for you to meet up with Father Anderson privately if you like, and you needn't visit the Undertaker at all. I merely wished to inform you. Whether you feel that you can socialize with the Undertaker is your decision to make, and not mine."

"...I killed his baby," Grell muttered, casting his gaze downwards. "Even if I didn't mean to, it's unforgivable. How can I expect him to still love me after what happened when I can't even forgive myself for what my body did to her?"

William's brows furrowed, and he struggled inwardly with himself for a reply. It wasn't in his nature to give comfort to others, but Grell's desolate self-accusation stirred something in him. He stepped through the door and he cupped the redhead's chin.

"Grell, what happened was no fault of your own. Your body was simply too strained to maintain the pregnancy. This is a risk that all aspiring mothers take—particularly of the male variety. Had you wished to 'kill' your lover's progeny, you could have easily done so the moment you found out you were carrying it. This self-blame serves no purpose, except to make you miserable."

He released Grell's chin, and he nodded at the open doorway. "He is in there asking for you. I hardly think he would be doing that, if he blamed you at all."

"He would if he wanted to give me a piece of his mind," Grell muttered, gripping his sleeves as he crossed his arms. He wasn't used to William being so-gentle with him. Caring. He didn't quite know how to respond to it.

"Or even...do what you so often have done when I displeased you and grated on your nerves."

William closed his eyes briefly, silently regretting his harsh treatment of Grell in the past. The crimson reaper was heavily grieving over something that he couldn't even fathom. "I didn't get the impression that he wishes to punish you in any way, Grell. He…only wants to see you. He is hurt and he gave every indication that simply laying eyes on you would give him some comfort. I detected no bitterness toward you—only toward himself. I'm honestly a horrible relationship advisor, however, so I'm simply telling you what I have observed."

Grell bit his lip and sighed, pulling his robe tighter closed around his form as he pulled away and strolled out of his room and towards the medical room. Though he paused in the doorway once he arrived, saying nothing to bring attention to his presence. His eyes trained on the prone form of his lover-were they still lovers? Grell had his doubts.

Undertaker felt his presence—a result of their sexual connection and conceiving a child together—and he opened his bleary eyes to peek at him through his bangs. "There you are," he sighed. He made a weak gesture at Lawrence. "Look who's here, love."

Lawrence stood up and approached the uncertain redhead. "I'm terribly sorry to hear of your loss, Agent Sutcliff." He glanced at the other reapers in the room. "I believe they should have a moment alone, if you please."

The medics cleared out without question, and Lawrence shut the door after Ronald followed him out. Now alone with Grell, Undertaker let his gaze meander over the crimson reaper.

"You're too pale," he observed. "Not getting enough sunlight, love?"

It was perhaps ironic that he of all people would remark on another's paleness—except that Undertaker was an albino.

Grell swallowed, "I stay in my room all day...except when visiting her at night when most others are asleep." his voice was a husky whisper. "She...gets lonely at night...we both do."

He eyed the elder reaper a moment before speaking again. "What happened? How did they find out about you?"

"I wish I knew," sighed the mortician. "I might have gotten too careless with my contacts…probably the case." He lowered his gaze, white lashes sweeping down to conceal his eyes. "I was speaking to her when they came to me. I made a bit of a symbolic grave for her in London, so I could speak to her."

He raised his gaze again and he managed a smile. "Saved the rattle I made for her, though."

He grimaced as he shifted, trying to dig into his inner pockets. "Ah…oh, that's rather unpleasant. Well, then…" He found what he was looking for, and he held it out to Grell. "Never made one before, so I'd say it's not perfect…but it was for her."

"The booties I tried knitting for her were far from perfect, either." Grell attempted to smile, walking over to slowly sit down on the bed next to the man to look at the baby toy. "...Why didn't you stay with me? Even for one night after we...laid her to rest. Did...was it because of me?" he asked with a cracked voice.

"Not at all," Undertaker tried to reassure. He reached out to lay one pale, slim hand over the redhead's. "Darlin', I left 'cause I couldn't face you. Didn't know how to cope, and all. I couldn't face you after…after I failed both of you."

He swallowed a rare lump in his throat and looked away. "Did my best, you understand, but it wasn't enough. After that, I just had to breathe for a while…couldn't bear looking at you, knowing I might have saved her if I'd just come sooner."

He closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry, li'l rose. Never meant t' hurt you."

"No." Grell shook his head, "You tried, you did everything. My body rejected her. It's my fault if anyone's," he insisted. "But I…I needed you. You are the only one that really knows my pain, and you were gone...I tried to go after you before bed, but they wouldn't let me. R-Ronnie and Will...and Alan... They all refused to let me. Eric wanted me to punch you when I saw you. He was the only one who agreed I should go."

"Sounds like Eric's the only one with a lick of sense," muttered Undertaker, opening his eyes to look at him. "Grell, listen to me…we could sit here laying blame 'till the next sunrise, but the truth is, what happened wasn't anyone's fault. I suspect we'll both be stuck with some guilt for a while despite that, but it won't change what happened. Now, how I reacted to it…that's something I ought to own up to."

He closed his eyes again and sighed, exhausted from his ordeal in the graveyard, his grief, and the shock of seeing Anderson alive. "I don't think I can stay awake much longer, darlin'. They've still got a bit of patching up t' do on ol' Undertaker as well, but I wanted to see you while I'm still conscious and have my wits about me. I'd love to talk more when I've recovered a bit, if you're willing."

"...You still have the key to my room," Grell muttered. "If you still want me...you may share my room once they finish fixing you." he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and took the elder's hand. "It's not too late for us to comfort each other."

A smile curved the ancient's pale lips. "Makes me happy to hear you say that, Grell. Soon as I'm up and about again, I'll move my things into your room. I sent a trunk with supplies, last time they sent someone for a pickup. Just need to ask Spears where they stashed it." He brought Grell's hand to his bloodstained lips, started to kiss it, then thought better of it.

"I'll save the smooches for later," he sighed, "after I'm cleaned up."

His head listed to the side and his tangled silver bangs fell over his eyes.

Grell shook his head and leaned down to kiss his lips, "If you think any amount of blood getting on me is going to upset me—then you have not known me well enough, darling."

The medic knocked on the door and stuck his head in. "Excuse me, but we really should finish tending the Undertaker's wounds. I don't know how he managed to evade the bullets, but he still got some scythe cuts that need suturing."

Grell nodded, "I'm staying," he said, not moving from his spot. "I won't get in your way, but I'm not leaving this room."

The medic sighed and glanced at his companion. "Have it your way, Mr. Sutcliff."

They came in to resume their work on the wounded mortician, while the others either waited in the hall or went about their business until there was news.

* * *

 

While they waited to hear the prognosis for Undertaker, William took Lawrence Anderson to be questioned by the council they'd put together—led by those who either had management positions before their exile or were voted in. Anderson went into further detail about the small group waiting for him in England and the weapon supplies they'd manufactured, so far.

"The disadvantage of the gun-scythes is that they require ammunition," explained Lawrence to them as he puffed on his pipe. "And of course, the bullets must be made of the same substance as the scythes themselves, to function as intended. Dispatch naturally has the resources to make plenty, but we are sadly lacking, ourselves."

"An unfortunate dilemma," observed Fabian. He tapped the arm of his chair and looked at William. "Such scythes could have proved useful to our cause."

"They can still be of use," suggested Anderson, "provided we could locate and raid one of their weapon facilities. Even using ordinary bullets, they can do quite a bit of damage and incapacitate a reaper, without causing deadly harm. If you ask me, that may not be a bad thing—particularly when we cannot be certain who is with them out of loyalty, and who is with them out of compulsion. These people have ways of forcing cooperation, if they can't recruit reapers willingly or otherwise compel them."

"So you believe some of the enemy agents aren't entirely there by choice?" reasoned William. It made sense, when he thought of Grell and Eric.

"The assassin they sent after me could have finished me," reminded Anderson, "but he chose to let me live. I'm convinced they held something over him that made me feel he had little choice, but his heart was not in it."

"I too know agents that were compelled into it," said Fabian with a nod.

"As do I," agreed William with a sigh. "I wonder what the chances would be of getting them to turn on the usurpers, if we can take back one of the divisions and prove to them that it can be done."

"That's a big gamble," stated one of the other council members—a woman from Croatia. She crossed her legs and waved a hand in the air. "They have all stolen divisions tightly locked down, and they are steadily spreading out."

"Yes, but through the Undertaker, we have secret weapons of our own," Lawrence pointed out. "If we move fast and strike at the right time, the enemy won't be able to counter it. Taking back one of our agencies can be done; the problem we face is in keeping it, once we've done so."

"Well, I for one would like to see Mr. Anderson fulfill the stipulations laid down upon him, before we discuss this matter further in his presence," announced one of the other council members, his eyes wary on the elder. "I know you London reapers trust him, but until he's undergone our tests and linked with the colony, I'm afraid I'm not willing to put my trust in him so readily."

William nodded. "Fair enough. Father Anderson, you will be fed and confined to a room under guard for the evening. Tomorrow morning, you must follow through with the agreement and submit to the tests and the linking. Do you agree to those terms?"

Lawrence nodded. "I do. Once I've fulfilled those requirements, however, I request that you allow me to contact my allies in England, and bring them into the fold. I honestly cannot say how long they can remain safe, surrounded as they are by enemies. We've done well for ourselves so far, but the entire reason I sought out the Undertaker was because the noose is closing in, and he was the only reaper left that I could think of that might be able to assist us."

William glanced around at the other council members. "We shall take that into consideration and discuss it this very night, if there are no objections?"

The council was unanimous on the matter, each of them agreeing to hold another meeting concerning the matter. Anderson was escorted out, and the meeting was adjourned.

* * *

 

Ronald sighed, leaning back against the wall behind him as he sat on a bench outside the counsel room. "You know what sucks? Not being included on the counsel meetings. I mean, we all are in the same boat and planning to fight back against the dipweeds who took over Dispatch. And before we started gathering all together and we were just a small group, we were all included in on everything. And now we have a line of command and I'm stuck at the bottom again." He complained to the cute girl sitting next to him.

She was about twelve, and was the daughter of one of the members of the counsel, and had been able to run away with her father when the attack happened on the reaper city they had come from. She gave him a quizzical look, as she didn't understand most of what he'd said. English was something she was only just starting to learn.

"You-baby." She said, not knowing the word for 'young'. So she used the words she did know. Her Spanish accent was thick and gave her simple speach a bit of flair.

Ronald blinked in shock at being called a 'baby', but before he could respond, the doors opened and Anderson was being escorted out. Spotting William in the middle of the pack of council members, he hopped up and slipped up next to him. "So, is he for real or is he the fake?"

"Oh, he is the real Father Anderson," replied William in a murmur, "but precautions must still be maintained. He will undergo testing and further interrogation. If he's deemed trustworthy enough, he will link with the colony as we all have, and we'll make arrangements to bring in his group from England, before it's too late."

Ronald nodded and sighed. "Sometimes I miss our group being just the four of us. I liked knowing what was going on right away. Now we have the council and I have to wait and be filled in on things. Makes it feel like everything is going so slow."

"I'll debrief you once we've escorted Father Anderson to his room," assured William. "There is a reason why numbers are limited in the council, Ronald. Too many voices cause clutter, and too many opinions cloud the issue and make processing important decisions even more difficult. You know I take your opinions into consideration, as well as the others from our division. This is why a second meeting will take place, and I wish to discuss the matter with _all_ of you, before I attend."

Because their numbers had grown, it was decided that one higher authority figure from each division would be the spokesperson for their colleagues within the council. William couldn't be certain whether the other council members discussed details with their people before attending a finalizing meeting, but he certainly tried to—at least with Ronald.

Ron nodded and heaved a dramatic sigh. "I know, but still! I wish I could be in there with ya. After I fucked up in the beginning with making that phone call...I want to know what's going on so I don't fuck up again. Especially now that we are a larger group."

William nodded, having grown more patient over time as he got to know and care for Ronald. "I understand. The best way to maintain order is to have a ruling body that speaks for the people, however. I wish I could assuage your concerns in some other way, but the most I can do at this point is to discuss it with you all, listen to your views and opinions and present them to the council. This is why we had a ruling board at Dispatch, Knox. Someone has to be in charge."

He sighed, wondering why that "someone" always seemed to be _him_. There were no other reapers available from his division or surrounding, smaller British divisions that they would accept though—save for Undertaker…and possibly Anderson, once he got through his preliminaries. He wouldn't feel right about asking the former to step up for him, so soon after losing his unborn child. The latter, however…

William steered Ronald off to their private room as the procession moved on, and he closed the door behind him once they were inside. "Ronald, I feel that it's a very good thing Father Anderson returned to us. Not only because of our division's overall fondness for the man, but because…"

It wasn't in his nature to admit a personal failing. He was used to being in charge of himself and others, always correcting his faults and hiding them from the world. Saying this to Ronald was a big thing for him. The fact that he was willing to share it as all was testament to how much he'd come to trust the young blond—whom he'd until recently found so irksome.

"I think that an elder of our division would be better suited to this role than I am," William finally stated, "and Father Anderson is well-known for his patience, his diplomacy and his logic. Should he prove as trustworthy as we all hope, I believe I may approach him with the offer to take my place on the council."

"Really?" Ronald whistled. "Man, I never thought I'd see the day when you'd volunteer to step down from a position you hold. I kinda thought being a workaholic was kinda your staple in life. Even after your office gassed us out, you took up the leader role right out between the two of us, and kept it as our numbers grew. Then took the natural spot on the council for our group of the resistance."

"I feel it's becoming too much of a responsibility, even for me," confessed the brunet. He sighed and walked over to the bed, dropping down onto it as if his legs could no longer bear the weight of the burden he felt. "We as a group could surely benefit from the guidance of someone like Father Anderson. I have done my best, but I must admit that all of this has taught me some humility. Sometimes, the best leader knows when to step down, Ronald."

"Yeah, but it's still a bit of a shock. You have always been my senior. If you step down, you'll be an officer like me. I've never been your equal before."

William smirked at him and patted the mattress invitingly. "I honestly haven't considered you to be my 'underling' for some time, now. We survived together, and you have become…my confidant. I know you haven't been allowed to be physically present in the meetings lately, but trust me when I say that there hasn't been a single gathering I've attended without your opinion on matters influencing what I have to say."

Ronald shrugged and plopped down onto the bed. "I'm just saying, you had been the boss since I was a student, work-wise I have always looked up to you. Romance-wise I certainly hope we are equals."

The older reaper huffed a bit. "I've become so accustomed to being 'the boss' that it seems to be all I know how to do. Frankly I'm tired of it, Ronald. For once, I think I should like to allow someone else to take charge. This of course depends on Father Anderson's consent, and whether he passes all tests of loyalty. I've little doubt he will, but I shan't set my hopes too high, or make premature plans."

He looked at him sidelong, and he laid a hand over Ronald's knee. "In addition to being weary, I have other issues to contend with that I have shared only with you. This colony's survival is too important to risk for the sake of my own ego."

Ronald flashed a small, sad frown before trying to hide it as he looked away, across the room at the mirror reflecting the light from the window on the floor. "I admit...since I learned of your anxiety problem...I have worried about you when you set to working hard. There is so much stress being in higher positions...and that can't be good for anxiety. I can't really relate to you with that problem, but I know stress simply from the amount of overtime I have gotten from being a junior officer and then an officer—not to mention back in school. Damn, that was rough some weeks... But, you know, I worry that you take on more that you can handle and...stuff..."

He trailed off, not wanting to insult the man he was in love with by implying he thought he'd give himself an attack and become helpless if he couldn't get to his meds. He worried about that, yes, but he also knew how strong the man could be. William was by no means weak, and his anxiety was not going to change that.

"Thank you," William murmured, surprising himself as much as Ronald. He reached out to comb his fingers through the younger reaper's two-toned hair, and he smirked ruefully. "It's not easy to admit my own limitations. It helps to know that it doesn't make me a lesser man, in your eyes."

"William, I love you." Ronald smiled comfortingly as he slipped his arm around his shoulders. "You could cut off your balls and give them to Grell as earrings and you'd still would never be a lesser man in my eyes! But-don't do that. Makes the boys hurt..." He said crossing his legs, "...and then sex may not be as fun... but still a man!"

The brunet sputtered and quickly covered his mouth. "H-honestly, Ronald…I…"

He had no words, and he couldn't stop himself from blurting a quick, soft bout of laughter. Dear gods, this served as a reminder to him of the qualities that attracted him to the impulsive young blond—even though they frustrated him at times. He was not an affectionate man by any means, but he was learning to relax a bit more and Ronald had a way of disarming him so easily.

William was mortified to hear himself snort, and he plugged his nose and turned his head away, flushing lightly. "Ah, pardon me."

Ronald smiled, leaning in, his lips brushing over the man's ear, "I like your laugh. It's kinda cute when you snort."

William shivered a little at the caress against his ear. Nobody had ever referred to his laugh as "cute", but then, not many people in life had heard his laughter since he'd reached adulthood. He'd all but forgotten what it sounded like, himself. He turned his head to kiss Ronald softly on the lips, silently conveying his gratitude.

* * *

-To be continued


	17. Chapter 17

 

* * *

Three days had passed since Undertaker came to them with Anderson, and the council was satisfied that Father Anderson was trustworthy. After passing all of their tests and revealing the location of his own small group of exiles, he was allowed to leave his room unguarded and begin contributing to the colony. On the second evening, Anderson spirit linked with the rest of the colony, as did the Undertaker.

Eric rolled over in the bed, his arm going around Alan to pull him closer as he spooned up against him. This was nice. It wasn't the most ideal setting to start a family, but he had hopes that some day in the future, they could stop hiding, get a home and raise their son or daughter in peace. He laid a palm over the brunet's extended abdomen beneath the sheets, rubbing in gentle circles as he kissed his shoulder. It was mid-morning, and though Eric was a little sore around the site of his healing injury, the activities that he and Alan had gotten up to the night before made it worth it. Poor Alan had been so worried he would open up the wound again, but they took it slow and careful—and it was just as magical as the first time had been.

"Mornin', love," purred Eric when his partner stirred in his embrace. He kissed Alan's temple. "Sorry if I woke ya."

"Mmh...cold..." Alan's groggy morning voice hummed out as he slowly pulled his legs up until they bumped against his belly. "Did we leave the window open last night?"

He turned his head, messy brown hair in his face as he opened his eyes and looked at his lover, a flush over his cheeks. He reached a hand up, out from the covers as he touched Eric's cheek with his fingertips.

"Morning...handsome." he smiled.

"It is, fer certain." Eric snuggled closer to warm him, sighing contentedly. Upon checking his watch, he realized he had a little over an hour before his early guard shift began. "Feel up fer some breakfast?"

As he understood it, an afternoon meeting was scheduled later in the day, to discuss the data that Jeffries had procured from Dispatch's medical research files. It made Eric both anxious and excited, to think that they might have finally procured the means to put an end to his partner's illness without killing him in the process.

"If said breakfast is something warm that involves blueberries and chocolate," the brunet mumbled. He tilted his head up and smiled at his lover. It never failed to bring a smile to his face when he awoke in the man's arms. It was such a perfect start to the day, and he hoped it would stay that way. "With a side of morning kisses," he added the none-to-subtle hint.

Eric was all too happy to lower his mouth to Alan's and present several more of those morning kisses. He lazily traced the younger reaper's lips with his tongue between kisses, and he ran his palm over his belly to his outer hip, squeezing lightly.

"Keep this up an' I'll want tae give yeh an encore from last night," warned the Scotsman with a chuckle. He drew spiraled patterns on Alan's pelvic area with his fingertips, his lips moving over his cheek to his neck. "Mm. I cannae think of anywhere I'd rather be righ' now, than wi' you."

Unfortunately, the morning breakfast bell rang downstairs at that moment, reminding them that it was time for the first meal of the day. Eric sighed and rested his forehead against Alan's. "Guess I'd better no' be selfish. You and th' baby need food more'n I need lovin'."

"You got plenty of love last night," Alan giggled, shifting himself up into a sitting position, but keeping the blankets pulled around him. "Not to mention you got me to sleep in the nude. Where did my night gown get to?" He asked, looking around the mess of blankets and discarded clothing, "And your pajama bottoms..."

Eric reached for the glasses on the nightstand, putting his own on before slipping Alan's on for him. He looked around thoughtfully, brows furrowed. "Huh…good question."

Patting his lover's rump, Eric pulled the covers down and got out of bed. Standing up to stretch, he yawned and had a closer look around for their scattered clothing. He located Alan's gown first, and he shot a wink over his shoulder at him as he bent over to pick it up.

"There ya go, lover. No idea where mine ended up, so I'll just slide a robe on."

Cheeks shamelessly stained pink, Alan found his eyes glued to the built form of his lover. He had scarring where he'd been shot, but the man still had the form of a god. Tan skin over well-built muscles... messy golden hair catching the morning light...

The brunet groaned, flopping back in the bed as he brought his night gown to his face to try and snap himself out of what his body was starting to react to and want. With his hormones on high alert, it was all too easy for him to get in the mood, and Eric being so damn sexy wasn't helping.

"Just...stop being naked!" His voice squeaked out, muffled slightly by the wad of cloth that made up his maternity pajamas.

Eric laughed heartily at that as he crossed the room to retrieve his robe off the door. "Getting' a bit o' stirrings, are yeh?" He slipped it on and he procrastinated for a moment before tying it closed. "Maybe after breakfast we could have a quickie, before I've go' tae take mah shift."

Alan peeked out at Eric, sitting up and starting to pull the night gown on again when he saw his lover had covered himself. "It's not my fault my moods are so uncontrollable and your body has to be all perfectly tempting!" He scooted to the edge of their large bed and swung his bare legs out from under the covers so that he could slip his feet into the pair of slippers he had ready. He then pushed himself up, the gown fluttering down around his legs as he paused to catch his balance and shuffle over to Eric.

"Sometimes my dreams forget that I finally have you back. I'm begging you to come back and when I awake and find you here with me..."

Eric sobered and he put his arms around the smaller reaper, holding him close. "I feel tha same, sweetheart. I cannae tell ya how many times I've woken up before yeh an' jus' stared at yer sleepin' face."

He lowered his mouth to Alan's for a kiss. "Mm, couldnae ask fer a better partner," he murmured against his lover's mouth. "Al…I want yeh tae marry me. Before tha baby comes. I've been thinkin' of asking ya since before I even found out ya were expecting, but things have been sae crazy, tha right moment for a formal proposal jus' ne'er seemed tae come up. I'm no' waiting anymore."

Eric grimaced a little, wishing he could be a bit more traditional with this. He looked down at his right hand, where his academy ring hugged his ring finger. It would have to do. He released his partner and twisted the ring off, before taking Alan's hand and slipping it on his finger nxt to his first ring. It was too big, but the symbolic gesture was still valid and his lover could wear it round his neck or something, if he chose.

"So will ya take vows wi' me, lover?"

Alan gave his lover a gentle smile, and he reached up to cup the man's cheek. "You have already asked, and I have already said yes. My answer has not changed. I want to be your husband-I do." he popped up to kiss his cheek, "I just...I'm mot sure about if it will happen before the baby comes." he looked down at his belly, "We have so much going on. Do you really think it's the time to take time to get married?" he asked, looking back up at Eric, "things are going to start moving faster. We are going to try and retake Dispatch again soon. It doesn't seem right to put preparations for it on hold for a wedding so suddenly. Even if it's a small one, we'd need to find someone to marry us."

"I was thinking maybe Father Anderson," mused the Scotsman thoughtfully. "He's go' tha status an' so does the Undertaker, fer tha' matter."

Unlike mortal unions, reaper ones did not require a religious leader to perform marriage rites. Instead, the elders tended to preside when asked by couples taking the vows. "Do ya think Anderson would go fer it? I thought of Undertaker first, but after he an' Grell lost their baby, it jus' didn't seem right. Feels like we'd be rubbing our happiness in their faces."

"We could, and I'm sure Father Anderson would be happy to. If we keep it small and quick, that is. And..." Alan's cheeks flushed, "...if we keep the honeymoon for after everything settles down."

The brunet looked up at Eric, "I want at least one thing of our marriage to be romantic. Our initial engagement wasn't all that romantic, our marriage if we do it before the baby comes will be rushed and small-even when we conceived our child, we were in a run down motel... I want us to do the honeymoon right."

"O' course," agreed Eric, suddenly feeling inept. He sighed and he rubbed Alan's shoulders, before sliding one hand down over his extended abdomen and resting it protectively there. "I'm sae sorry our first time was in such a sleazy location, love. I dinnae mean fer it tae go tha' far, but I'm no' sorry it happened. Just wish I could have given ya somethin' more romantic."

He leaned in to murmur into Alan's ear. "But I promise, our wedding night'll be somethin' special. Ya deserve tha'."

He couldn't set them up at some other private resort, but their current residency was nice and with a bit of doctoring, he thought he might be able to set just the right mood in their suite. "An' when tha baby comes an' this is all o'er, I'll take yeh on a second honeymoon…a _real_ one in some exotic location."

"You know what we have to do?" Alan smiled, resting his chin on Eric's chest as he looked up at him, "Baby names. We haven't thought of any names yet, and we need to have a name ready for our little girl or boy."

"Och…hell, I dinnae even think o' tha'," sighed the taller reaper. He rubbed Alan's back and nuzzled his hair. "I think I'd like Cora, if it's a girl. Cannae think of a boy's name off tha top o' mah head. Any ideas?"

"Cora?" Alan smiled and took his arm as they left their room to start down to breakfast, "Does that name have a special meaning for you? And we do have time. We can just have it on our minds for the next few days or weeks until we find out a boys name and girls name we agree on."

Eric shrugged. "It's jus' a nice Scottish girl's name I've always liked. We dun' have tae go wi' it if yer not fond of it. It was jus' tha first name tha' popped in mah head."

He waved at a couple of residents as they descended the stairs together. One of them was Alex, and he barely refrained from stopping him to ask about what he'd found on the medical files. That part could wait for the meeting. Alan had time before the Thorns got active again and the treatment probably shouldn't be rushed. Undertaker would need to study it extensively before even attempting it, unless they somehow managed to capture the man that came up with it.

In the cafeteria, Ronald and William were already seated and eating breakfast. Eric caught a glimpse of Grell and Undertaker seated outside on the patio, and though he wasn't a particularly compassionate reaper by nature, the Scotsman felt a tug at his heartstrings as he paused and watched the mortician coax Grell to take a bite from his plate. Things had been more than a bit rocky for the two of them, but the ancient seemed sincerely devoted to his lover now. He nodded, smiling a little.

"Tha's better," he muttered under his breath, and he put an arm around his lover as they stepped into the kitchen to select their meal.

* * *

"Are we all present?" Lawrence looked around at the small gathering and did a quick head count. Satisfied that everyone who needed to be there was present, he motioned at the laptop sitting on the table before Jeffries. "Please begin, Mr. Jeffries."

Alexander made some adjustments, and the portable projector lit up to display his computer screen on the far back wall. "All right, so here's the deal," he explained, using his mouse pointer to highlight the top of the document. "Seems this Professor Daniels came up with a valid technique for stopping the progress of the Thorns and putting them into remission, but it's tricky. Since it's not actually a virus or bacterial infection, medicine can only go so far. Uh, from what I understand, the medication they give to victims has a way of sedating the Thorns when an attack happens, which slows their growth but doesn't stop it completely."

Alex highlighted the second paragraph, along with the illustration of cinematic records. "Right, so we know Thorns happen because of contact with the cinematic records of mortals we reap. This file talks about how bits of those records sort of cling to our own and start spreading corruption over time. I guess it's kind of like cancer. Anyhow, the process of curing it involves _finding_ those fragments and removing them from the patient's own reels."

The young hacker looked at the Undertaker with a nod. "So I guess that's where you come in, Mr. Undertaker. You're the only one here that knows how to manipulate the reels enough to try this, unless we find some way to kidnap this guy and make him do it."

"I'd be fine wi' tha'," suggested Eric sincerely.

"But whether you are 'fine with it' or not, Mr. Slingby, to do so would require us going to the other side and trying to capture the man without getting caught by Dispatch ourselves," William pointed out. "The success of which would prove unlikely, at best."

Undertaker examined the files projected on the wall, stroking his pale chin in thought. "Truthfully lads, I think I could do it. I'll need t' study the procedure for a while, naturally, and mayhap practice a li'l on a mortal body, but a lot of what I'm seeing looks fairly familiar to me."

"...While normally I do have slight problems with what you do with the records of the dead...in this case I would prefer that you practice and know what to expect before you open up my own records," Alan admitted. "This...whole idea is scary enough as it is for me."

"That, and even if we do capture this Professor guy...how can we trust him with Alan's life when we are holding him against his will? If it were Will going under the knife I wouldn't want the guy to go anywhere near him! All it takes is one wrong cut of a cinematic record and it comes to the end," Ronald pointed out, feeling proud of himself for thinking of a risk no one else had brought up if they had thought of it.

Eric paled a bit at the thought. "Then we're better off lettin' tha Undertaker handle it."

"I'd sure say so," agreed the mortician cheerfully. He looked at Alan and gave an encouraging nod. "Not to worry, li'l chap. This professor might've come up with the treatment, but I'm willing to wager he still doesn't know his way around the reels the way I do. It's my specialty after all, and we've got time before the nipper comes and your Thorns wake back up. A couple of weeks of research and practice, and I ought to be able to do this with my eyes closed."

"Please dun' do it wi' yer eyes closed," objected Eric, even though he knew the man was only speaking metaphorically, "and I dun' want tae hear: ' _Look Ma, no hands_ ' from ya, either."

"You're taking all the fun out of it," chuckled Undertaker. His expression softened a bit as he looked at Alan again. "Don't you worry, Mr. Humphries. I can tell just by looking at these documents that I _will_ be able to pull this off. All you need t' worry about is staying with me while I'm doing it. It's not likely to be a pleasant experience, no matter how much care I take, but I think you're strong enough to pull through."

"I..." Alan hesitated, knowing he was possibly going to hit a nerve with his comment, "I just hope that I will have time after giving birth to rest before going through the procedure. Both will be quite draining." He knew he was strong, but two big events like he had in his future too close together gave him his doubts.

"I imagine it will take a few days for the Thorns to act up again," theorized Undertaker. "Once all the pregnancy hormones are gone is probably when they'll wake back up, so you should have time to recover before we get started."

Eric sighed and put an arm around his partner. "Hope so. Jus' make sure ya research tha procedure thoroughly, Undertaker."

The mortician nodded. "Of course. I'm rather fond of your partner, Mr. Slingby. I don't have plans to do this half-cocked." His smile faded as he thought of his own child…who never lived to see the light of day, or to feel her parents' arms around her. He swallowed and looked away, finding it difficult to maintain his cheerful demeanor. Seeing his subtle display of emotion, Anderson stood up and steered the subject away to another matter.

"Well then, that takes care of the matter of the Thorns treatment. Next on our schedule is the matter of death scythes. Our agents have managed to procure exactly twenty of the pistol scythes from a storage facility on the other side, along with the materials to craft some of our own, as well as bullets. The mission was a success and we were fortunate not to have lost anyone in the brief struggle that occurred with the guards. We outnumbered them and the masks we wore for the operation prevented any of them from identifying us."

Eric had forgotten all about the plans for the first raid. He thought they were going to wait for a bit longer to conduct it, but Anderson apparently thought it best to move sooner. "Thought ya were gonna wait 'till yer people made it here tae do that, Pops."

Lawrence sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "That _was_ the original plan, but these facilities don't remain stocked for terribly long. They move their weapons and materials around, Mr. Slingby, for the exact reason that they do not want any rebels to get their hands on them. The information I had procured regarding the locations of some of them isn't likely to be good for much longer. My companions from England should be arriving tonight, provided they make it out without getting caught. Once they have all been screened to the colony's satisfaction, we can begin manufacture of the new scythes for those that choose to use them. Personally, I would suggest every reaper in this colony carry both his or her original scythe _and_ one of the newer models, should we manage to procure or craft enough for all."

William nodded. "Until then, the guns that we have available will be assigned to our top ranking agents. Everyone in this room will be assigned one, as well as members of the council. More will be passed down according to rank as they become available."

Undertaker shrugged. "I think I'm fine with my scythe, chap, so someone else can have my popper. I'm more likely t' shoot myself than one of our enemies, anyhow."

"Yes!" Ronald gave a fist-pump, obviously pleased with the knowledge that he'd receive one of the new scythes. "This is exactly what I wanna hear! I volunteer for anything related to getting the guns!"

Alan chuckled. "You're like a child on Christmas."

"Dude, this is better than Christmas!" Ronald grinned. "I've wanted to get my hands on one since we found out about them!"

"Alright lad, calm down," chuckled Lawrence. "The guns will be issued tomorrow. I think you should all be aware that you will be given a limited amount of ammunition until we can begin mass production of more. The council has agreed to set up a shooting range for practice as well. Obviously you will be given ordinary ammunition for this purpose, as we cannot afford to waste even a single reaping bullet."

Alex grinned. "Sounds hip to me. I'm down for it!"

"Er, yes." Unfamiliar with the slang of the younger generation, Lawrence took the basic meaning as approval and he looked at Undertaker. "Old friend, I understand your distaste for these new weapons, but I really think that we could all stand to at least learn how to use them. You never know when such skills could prove useful."

Undertaker grimaced. "I s'pose a bit of practice wouldn't hurt; though with my eyesight, I'm not likely to hit the target. The glasses I use only help so much, Lawrence."

"I can manufacture a new pair of Shinigami glasses for you," insisted Lawrence. "I know you've become accustomed to going without, but for the sake of accuracy, I think you should consider donning them."

The mortician practically sulked. "I do just fine without eyewear, 'cept for when I need to perform delicate medical tasks."

"And surgical precision is going to be as necessary in the struggle to come as it is in any medical situation," reminded Lawrence. "Please, just consider it."

Undertaker shrugged. "Fine, then. Now if you gents will excuse me, I'm going to check on my lady and fill him in on what went on in here."

Grell hadn't felt like attending the meeting, so he'd asked Undertaker to just summarize it for him afterwards. The poor thing was battling so much depression. It still came as a bit of a shock to the mortician, how much his lover had sincerely wanted the baby they'd accidentally conceived. Perhaps the prospect of finally moving in on the enemy would cheer Grell up.

"Of course, Undertaker," said Anderson with a nod. "And as soon as my companions arrive with my belongings from London, I shall begin work on your glasses. They should be ready within a couple of days."

Undertaker nodded and left the meeting room, closing the door behind him.

"Well, I believe we should get started on dispensing the new death scythes and setting up the firing range," suggested William. "The sooner we begin to familiarize ourselves with these firearms, the better off we will be."

"I'm with Will!" Ron practically cheered, hopping up and eager to get to work on helping with everything gun-related.

* * *

Grell could see his daughter's modest little grave from his room window, in which he sat, arms folded on the sill to cushion his chin as he gazed out over the memorial near the beach. He hadn't been of much help to the group since the tragedy, but no one had asked him to, either. Everyone—even those who didn't know him—let him be. They would ask him if he wanted to attend a meeting or help with something, but he always turned them down. As it was, only Undertaker seemed to be able to coax him into eating or going for a walk to get fresh air.

He wasn't himself—and he knew it. It felt as if a part of him had died along with his daughter. He'd mourned. He'd cried and thrown fits, cursing the fates who'd be so cruel as to give him a baby and then promptly take her away. But nothing could bring her back. Nothing could change her fate now.

Bitterness and sorrow were all he could feel, and he had no one to blame. Undertaker wouldn't let him blame himself...and no one had caused it to happen...he had nothing to focus his anger onto—and there was a lot building up within his broken heart.

But then again...none of this would have happened if those who caused the dispatch takeover hadn't used him as they had...he wouldn't know this heart ache that would never heal if it hadn't been for the bastards. He'd only asked for the freedom to do things his own way and the guaranteed safety of William and Ronald. Neither of which they had truly given him.

Grell stood up, clenching his fists as he continued to look out the window. His unkempt, long red hair in his face. He didn't regret his daughter-or his relationship with Undertaker, but he finally had a target for his darker emotions...

And they _would_ pay.

Undertaker opened the door a crack and stuck his head in. "Grell, love? The meeting's over with." He slipped inside and he approached the chair Grell had been sitting in and he put his hands on his slim shoulders, massaging them with skilled, long fingers. "Anderson came through for us and he's wanting all senior officers to take a pistol and start practicing shooting 'em. I'm not in a rush to use one of those things myself, but it couldn't hurt t' learn how to use one."

"...How soon?" Grell asked, not looking up. He already knew how to shoot one. He hadn't liked it, but they had made him go through the training when he worked for the other side. Now, perhaps it would be a fitting tool to take them down with.

"Mayhap tomorrow." Undertaker shrugged fluidly and began to work on the back of Grell's neck, trying to ease the tension there. He brushed the crimson hair to one side to give himself better access as he kneaded the tendons. "They're going to get started on setting up the firing range today, I think."

He looked out the window and realized what Grell was staring at. An ache spread in his chest and he sighed, lowering his gaze beneath the fringe of silver hair. "Darlin', maybe you ought to take a nice, warm bath. Shouldn't sit here all alone for the rest of the day, either. What say I fill the tub for you and drop in a couple of those salts you like, eh? Then after that we could take a li'l walk by the beach, or sit down with a book or the telly."

He was so bloody awful at this sort of thing, but he was trying. He at least owed Grell that much.

"I'll train for using a gun," Grell agreed quickly. He then stood up and turned to face Undertaker. "Join me in the bath?" he requested.

Having not expected such an invitation, the mortician stumbled over his words. "I...that would be lovely."

A bare hint of pink darkened his pale cheeks. They hadn't been intimate since he'd found out Grell was expecting, and he felt like an awkward schoolboy all the sudden. He traced a pattern on the floor with the toe of his boot. "Are you sure about this, Grell?"

It was difficult to tell if it was grief or desire that had prompted Grell to make the offer.

Grell nodded and leaned up against Undertaker, his arms slipping around the tall reaper's middle. "I feel calmer when you are with me. The pain of our loss feels more manageable." He looked up, catching a glimpse of his eyes. "I don't want to wallow in our loss. I want to take action. Our daughter will be my strength to fight back against the bastards who caused everything to begin with."

"And we _will_ give them a thing or two to think about, love," promised the mortician as he traced Grell's features with his nails. "Count on that."

He lowered his mouth to the smaller reaper's and kissed him lingeringly. "Now, let's get that bath started so we can have a relaxing soak together."

Grell nodded and sighed, taking his hand. "A nice cuddle in warm water sounds nice..." He pulled the older reaper along into their private bath and closed the door. His cheeks flushed as his fingers found their way to his buttons. He had no intention on making the bath sexual, but this would be the first time they got naked with each other since before they found out about the baby, and Grell couldn't help but be a little nervous about it.

Undertaker smiled encouragingly at the redhead, just as nervous. This wasn't the same as the spontaneous interactions they'd had in the past. There were no misunderstandings and lingering resentment between them the last time they'd shed their clothes in front of each other, and it hadn't been for comfort. He removed his hat and placed it on the sink, before loosening his sash. In the heat of passion, he wasn't a self conscious fellow at all. Now that he was bearing his scars for Grell again under different circumstances, he wondered if the younger reaper found them ugly.

His fingers fumbled a bit as he started unfastening his outer robe, and he took a deep breath. His gaze went to his companion again, and he rather wished he had the glasses that Anderson promised to him. He couldn't see Grell very clearly, and the memory of what his body looked and felt like wasn't quite enough. He stepped closer to help him out of his vest and shirt, trying to keep his touch from being overly sensual.

"Here, you've got your chain hung up on your button," he offered, easing the item hanging from his trousers off said button. He slipped the vest off of him and he kissed him on the temple. His mouth felt dry, and he had the horrible feeling he might laugh soon—a hysterical reaction to a situation that wasn't a bit humorous.

Grell flushed darker and dropped his arms to let the older reaper assist him. "Sorry, I guess I'm a little nervous..." he said, looking down, his red hair falling over his face and hanging down to just above his knees. "I'm much better at this when it's passionate, but something like this...it's new to me. Needing comfort and giving comfort is new..."

He spun around and looked up. "You are hurting the same as I, and yet you still function. I wish to share your strength and in return," he pressed his hand over Undertaker's heart, "help your own heart heal to make it easier."

The ancient glanced down at the hand on his chest, and then he turned his head to the side to part his bangs, so that he could see Grell more clearly. He gave him a smile that was nothing like his usual half-mad, half-mirthful ones. It was subdued...reflecting how very broken he felt right now. He let the mask drop, and he touched Grell's cheek before sliding his fingers through his hair. He combed the crimson glory of it over Grell's shoulder, and the snowy lashes framing his eyes shadowed them as he lowered his gaze.

"Didn't know how to react," he confessed softly, "except with a bit of violence. I'll admit I'm an old fool. Should have put the feelings of 'mum' before my dodgy impulses. That's the way my crooked old brain works at times, though."

He traced Grell's lips with a fingernail from his free hand, lifting his gaze again to stare into the younger reaper's eyes. "I just do what seems most entertaining at the moment, and when the laughter stops...well...I get a bit lost in a fog. I'm more focused now though, and you and me...well, we've got business of a more personal sort, besides all this fracas with Dispatch. I won't pretend to be the best suitor a lady could ask for, but I'll try t' do right by you, from now on."

"I had known," Grell whispered, looking up into Undertaker's eyes, "what kind of man you were when we got involved on a more personal level. I knew you are a man who thrives in laughter...but I never imagined we'd both get so broken. I suppose...we both could have been here for each other more than we were. You left to be alone, and I stayed to be alone." He shook his head and sighed.

"But we'll make them pay...these revivalists who took over Dispatch. Maybe not directly, but they had a hand in everything. I won't let them get away with it. I've decided to fight back, and if I have to bring back what is left of 'Jack the Ripper', then that is what I will do. Only this time...Unnie...I want you as my partner, my other half. I want to see them crash and burn."

With his admission out of the way, he stood on his toes and pressed his lips to Undertaker's in a mostly chaste kiss. Undertaker returned it, but he wasn't quite able to keep it as chaste. He briefly slipped his tongue past Grell's lips to caress his, and he tempered himself before it could go further than that. He broke the kiss and kissed the other reaper's eyelids and cheeks as he resumed helping him undress. This wasn't about sex. It was about comfort and healing. Perhaps another time, after they'd both settled into this new relationship they were forging.

"I'm happy to be your partner in this, love," he murmured. He started to grin, and his uncertainty faded as more of his clothing fluttered to the tiles as well. "And I can't think of a better reaper to compliment my madness in combat, to say the truth."

"A nice pair of madmen, we make." Grell smiled; the small curl to his lips genuine. "Your dolls, and my blood lust, we could stain the dispatch with so much red it'll last for eons."

Once their clothes were all shed, Grell stepped into the tub, pulling Undertaker in with him before lowering himself into the steaming, scented water and settling up against his partner...his lover. Undertaker spread his legs so that Grell could sit between them, and he reached for the sponge and the soap. He couldn't help the way his body reacted to the contact, but he avoided touching Grell in an overly sensual manner as he pulled his crimson hair to one side to lather his back and shoulders for him.

"Just imagine the looks on their faces," he said, his grin returning. "My dollies, your chainsaw and of course, plenty of inappropriate jokes hurled at them. It's going to be an exercise of hilarity, I think."

He took his time with it, soaping down Grell's body and then following up with the rinse. He sighed and leaned back when he was finished, content to just sit there in the warm water and soak with the volatile redhead. "Here, lean back with me," he offered, putting his arms around Grell's waist. "It's been a good long while since I just...held someone."

"It's been forever since I've been held...for real, that is. Others have hugged me when I needed it, but..." Grell lightly bit his lip and sighed, lying back against his warm chest, his finger following the line of a single scar, "Are the stories behind these correct?" He asked suddenly, "the ones they tell when they teach young reapers about your legendary time in Dispatch?"

Undertaker shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, love. I've no bloomin' _idea_ what they tell the fledglings about me. Haven't had much interest in what any one of 'em think about my past." He kissed Grell's temple and his smile returned. "Something you'd like to ask me, then?"

"Tell me how you got them?" Grell requested gently so that the man knew he was free to refuse if he wasn't comfortable with it. He could tell that Undertaker was at least a little self conscious about them.

The mortician hesitated just for a moment, before looking away. It was a simple request made by the reaper that _would_ have been the mother of his child. Least he could do was fulfill it, after basically abandoning Grell in a time of need...twice. "I got these in a faction war that happened in Dispatch. This isn't the first time an alliance of idealists took over the place, darlin'. These folk that are behind what's going on now have ideals more akin to the way Dispatch _used_ to be run. The Dispatch you know today was formed out of that conflict. I sided with the original faction, and when they went down, the new one allowed me to retire."

He grinned and kissed Grell's cheek. "I've never been all that fond of authority, mind you, but I was used to how things were run, and I had my loyalty. These new blokes were a lot sneakier about the way they moved in on the organization. Instead of fighting openly for it, they hid in the shadows and crept their way back in."

Grell frowned. "I had no idea that my dispatch was different than yours...that ours had taken over. Do you think that the minds behind this take over are loyalists to the dispatch you had once known? That they are trying to regain what they lost? They do call themselves the 'revivalists' after all...I had always thought that odd."

The redhead shook his head, He wasn't going to let himself think that maybe they had the right! Not now. They had used him and lied to him-betrayed him. If they had treated him more fairly and adhered to his simple requests, then maybe he would, but they hadn't. They didn't trust anyone, and they didn't do anything to earn other people's trust. They were a mess and they were only winning because they were sneaky bastards.

Grell closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to Undertaker's scar, "And now we've got you caught up in this all over again...You didn't want to be, but I-I'm sorry. You even have a new scar because of me." He pressed his hand over his heart.

"That was no fault of yours, Grell." Undertaker embraced him a bit awkwardly and stroked his hair. It wasn't that easy to maneuver in the bathtub, but they were somehow managing. "These things just happen sometimes. From what I've been told, you did everything you were s'posed to do to take care of yourself and the nipper. Don't waste another moment on self-blame. As for who's behind the takeover, it wouldn't surprise me if it were some of my old associates. Doesn't matter, though. They're just as wrong as the new order was when they went on the attack, and now they've forced my hand."

"I know...I'm trying...it's hard." Grell sighed and relaxed. "Unnie...do you think...that later, after this Dispatch mess is over and we've both healed up enough, that we could maybe...try again?"

That surprised the mortician more than he could even express. Not many things in the world could paint such a dumbfounded expression on his face, and he wondered if he might have started drooling unwittingly. Not that he felt a particularly eager desire to try and reproduce again—it was just _that_ startling to hear Grell suggest it. He'd all but convinced himself that he simply wasn't meant to be a parent, and he'd thought the miscarriage was proof of that...and yet there Grell was, requesting another try at it.

"I...er...well," he mumbled, trying to gather his thoughts. "If you still feel that way after we've routed those blighters that took over Dispatch and gotten things back under control, I s'pose we could give it a try."

The "trying" was loads of fun. It was the fruition that troubled him. He'd been of a mind that it would trouble Grell too, and he cupped the redhead's chin to urge him to turn his head and look at him. "But it's something you should think on for a while, my dear. Right now, you're head's probably all over the place. Give yourself some time, and we'll see what happens, yeah?"

The redhead nodded and closed his eyes as he inhaled, "You're right... Of course you're right. Now isn't the time to make choices like that. We already have so much on our plates...and we have eternity." he agreed.

Grell pulled himself up and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Emotions are hard, sometimes... Maybe William has the right idea with suppressing them."

"Nothing wrong with feeling a bit of emotion," Undertaker encouraged. Feeling that the water had started going cold, he gently urged Grell to scoot forward and he stood up, offering a hand of assistance to him as he stepped out of the tub. The water dripped down his pale nudity, glistening in the light from the overhead fixture. "And there's no harm in thinking up options for the future, love. I was just surprised to hear you say you'd want to try again. Don't want you making hasty decisions, is all...especially with a dodgy old bastard like myself."

He grinned at his own self-depreciating words, candid as always. "After all, a pretty young thing like you has plenty of options." He reached for the towel hanging on the nearby wrack, prepared to wrap Grell in it so that he could get dry first.

"You left me the first time because you had been hurt in the past. You now know I'm not like that woman had been. I'm not here to use you. I'm with you because I love you-not your reputation. You had your reasons, and we have a better understanding of each other, now," Grell said, stepping out of the tub and into the towel his lover was holding out for him. "If I make a hasty choice, it wont be the fact that it was with you should I end up feeling regret. It'd be more comforting that it was at least with you, darling."

The ancient was at a loss for what to say at first. He began to help his companion dry off, and he pondered over the road that had brought them to where they were now. "And t' think, all that time I was under the belief that you were just doing what they told you to do. Shows just how big of a fool I can be."

He rubbed the towel briskly over Grell's smooth, fair skin, and then he began to dry his hair. He kissed the smaller reaper's neck from behind as he messaged his scalp through the towel. "Seems even fossils like me have room to learn something new, eh?"

"No one is ever too old to learn something new." Grell smiled slightly. "Or...find new reasons to smile." He turned around and took the towel to return the favor and dry Undertaker off, "And you are only as old as you feel."

Undertaker snorted. "I feel pretty bloody old next to you lot, at times. Just babes, the lot of you...but I think some of you have a firmer grasp on reality than I do."

He finished towel-drying his hair, and he began on his own. "But I think if I have to choose between your way and theirs, I'll pick yours. Dispatch doesn't need to return to what it used to be, to my thinking. Times have changed and the organization needs t' keep up with it."

Normally, Grell would have been quick to point out that Undertaker seemed quite young and able in bed, not old at all, but the temptation was greatly reduced in light of their tragedy. Rather, he wrapped his hands around the man in an embrace. "Even if we win, things won't be the same. Our Dispatch will be changed by this, no matter what."

"Some change is good," said the mortician with a nod. He took the towel off of his head, and his thick silver mane resembled a long mop. "Hopefully this'll be a learning experience for Dispatch. There's no stopping the changes that are going to come of this, but if Dispatch is smart, they'll make good out of the bad and think about what went wrong for things to get so out of hand."

He put the towel on the rack and he combed his fingers through his hair to tame it somewhat. He smiled at Grell, his eyes briefly roving over him with admiration beneath the damp, pale bangs. "One thing about me that hasn't changed much is my appreciation for a nice view, love. You'll make me stiffer than my clients in their coffins, if you don't put something on."

In fact, he was already beginning to get a case of that stiffness, and some mischievous little demon within kept him from grabbing the towel he'd just used and covering himself. Let Grell see the effect he had on him. Maybe it would serve as a reminder of the passionate reaper he was, and if nothing else, keep him from drowning in the miasma of guilt and doubt he seemed to be in.

"If that is your attempt to make me shy, you have much work to do, Darling." Grell smiled, almost letting out a giggle. But he didn't move to cover himself—yet. Rather, he reached for his hair brush and looked into the fogged mirror as he ran the brush through his long ruby tresses.

"But I suppose I should see what I have in the way of big-girl clothes. I can't very well go out and paint the corrupted Dispatch red in naught but my nightgown and slippers."

Undertaker found himself appreciating the little game, and he approached his companion from behind and held out a hand. "Might I give you a hand with that, love?"

Beneath his damp bangs, his eyes glittered and stared into Grell's through the mirror.

Grell's eyes met the reflection of Undertaker's and he gave a small nod, handing the brush back to the older reaper, strands of red still caught in the bristles of the brush. He then plopped his exposed rear onto the cushioned bench to the vanity he was in front of. "May I brush yours when you are done with mine?"

"Oh darlin', you've no idea how much that'd please me," confessed the older reaper with a chuckle. "One of my little-known guilty pleasures is to have these tresses of mine played with...but let's take care of yours, first."

He took the brush from Grell and he began to run it through his crimson hair with slow, careful strokes. One had to be careful of long hair when combing or brushing it. Starting at the root and dragging the brush down could tug too much, causing breakage that could otherwise be avoided. Familiar with caring for his own voluminous mane, the Undertaker began at the tips first, and worked his way up. He massaged Grell's scalp with his free hand as he brushed his hair, kneading with his fingers and tickling lightly with his long nails. Seeing the way the younger reaper's eyes drifted shut, he smiled.

"Pretty li'l rose. I like showing you ol' Undertaker can please in more ways than one," he murmured. In truth though, hair-brushing wasn't a courtesy he was used to exchanging with another. He'd pretty up his "clients" with it of course, but to do it for a warm, living being and have it done for him in exchange was a thing he wasn't accustomed to.

"You please me in more ways than two," Grell admitted, his words mumbled and not completely clear as he enjoyed the treatment. And it was true. He didn't need sex to be pleased by the man. He adored all sorts of attentions from him. It was just the rejection and the running away that hadn't pleased him. Something as simple as holding his hand or giving him a chaste embrace was enough to please Grell. Though the sex was particularly enjoyable.

And it was nice to have someone who knew how to properly brush long hair. It was soothing, and he was enjoying it greatly. In the past after he'd grown his hair out, any lovers he'd taken would simply try to rake through his hair with the brush without care. Heck, they didn't even have to be lovers. One time even Ronald had brushed his hair for him—the wrong way. The poor boy didn't last long before he'd found a chainsaw in his face.

Undertaker ducked his head a little, inordinately pleased and...flattered.

_~Oh, buggery bugger! Silly ol' sod! Stop that!~_

But he couldn't. He'd begun to blush. Fortunately for him, he was so bloody pale that only a slight bloom of mortal coloring suffused his cheeks. He concentrated on the task at hand, using a combination of his nails and the brush to get every tangle out until he could run the bristles smoothly through Grell's hair without a snag.

Grell smiled and leaned back, his arm wrapping behind him to poke in a playful manner at Undertaker's bare hip, using the mirror as a guide to avoid poking a more awkward area by mistake.

After a few more minutes of his hair being brushed just for the feel of it, Grell stood up and took the brush, cleaning it out before guiding Undertaker to sit on the stool himself. Humming a light little tune, he began to run the bristles in short strokes at the ends of silver strands, carefully working out the tangles left from their bath.

Unwittingly, the mortician began to hum a little...and that soon turned into a purring sound as his eyes drifted shut and the pleasure of having his hair brushed by another destroyed his already fragile restraint. He tilted his head back and his fingertips kneaded the sides of the chair. Ah, this was bliss. It felt so lovely, and to be given such a treat by one he'd come to care for was the ultimate pleasure. He couldn't stop the noises that emitted from him and he was unaware that he'd begun to sound like a big exotic cat as he expressed his enjoyment of the treatment.

After a moment of listening to the sounds, Grell couldn't help but let out a laugh, a bit rough and more on his masculine side due to all the crying he'd done, but a true, unrestrained laugh.

"Darling, if you keep doing that I may have to nickname you my kitty!" He said, kissing Undertaker's shoulder as he brought the brush up to the middle area of his hair to make another pass of the brush.

The mortician grinned, eyes still shut with pleasure. "Call me whatever you like, darlin'. As long as you pet me once in a while, I won't mind."

He sighed and tilted his head back, baring his scarred throat in the process. "Been a good long while since anyone did this for me, you know."

"I know." Grell planted a gentle kiss to his forehead, "You have spent way too many years alone with only the dead to talk to. I don't plan to leave you to completely your own devices again. Two mad minds are better than one lonely mad mind."

He sighed and pulled back to continue brushing soft, damp locks of silver.

"I agree with that," chuckled the Undertaker. He let his hands drop into his lap and he opened his eyes again to look at Grell's blurred form through the mirror. "I think mayhap I'll take Anderson up on his offer about the glasses. It'd be nice t' see you clearly without having to be right up in your face."

He reached back to take hold of Grell's free hand and bring it to his lips for a kiss. "And what a pretty face it is, too."

He was starting to feel randy, which was a bit of a problem. Funny how such simple contact could make him want the redhead so easily. It wasn't as if Grell was even trying to seduce him; he simply reacted to his presence and the intimacy of the contact. True, he'd wanted Grell to see the effect he had on him, but there were certain limitations he needed to consider for the moment, and the last thing Grell needed right now was him getting grabby with him. "Grell, love...I'm starting to get a bit more...er...involuntary swelling. Hand me that towel there, would you? I'd hate to go on being obnoxious old bounder in front of my lady."

"Too long with us being both exposed?" Grell asked, breaking away to grab a towel and spread it over Undertaker's lap. He then also removed his own glasses and slipped them onto the man's face, "Our prescriptions may not match, but it should help you admire the whole package of the lovely lady you got oh so lucky to capture the heart of." He smiled, stepping back and still holding the brush.

Undertaker reached up to touch the glasses, and he shook his bangs out of his eyes and smiled at Grell through the mirror. It was still a bit blurry, but he could see him much more clearly than before. For one reaper to offer his or her glasses to another was an endearing gesture, indeed. "Well now, look at you!" His double-irised gaze swept over Grell's fair nudity lingeringly. "Mm, very nice. Just lovely, m'dear. My, my...now see the state you've got me in?"

He glanced down at his crotch, which was now in such a state a body could camp under the tent it was causing in his towel. "Ahem. 'Scuse junior, lovely. At least we got 'im covered before he went full-mast."

Grell smiled and slipped his arms around Undertaker, reaching down to poke his covered tip with his painted red finger, "And I promise to take care of his needs later when I can emotionally handle it. He just needs to be patient with us both."

Undertaker's breath caught at the brief touch, but he made no advances on his companion. "I've lived long enough with th' troublemaker to keep my head when he rears his, darlin'. Junior might not fancy it too keenly, but I'm the boss of the two of us and we'll wait 'till you're ready. In the meantime, though..."

He took off Grell's glasses and offered them back to him, before standing up and wrapping the towel around his waist. "...I'd better get some knickers on and stop feasting my eyes on you. Best not to tempt fate, eh?" He winked at the younger reaper and he went to change into some clothes. He grimaced and swore a bit as he turned his back on Grell and started putting his pants on.

"Ah, bloody hell...these really don't leave much room to stuff my goods into," sighed the mortician. He hopped a little and poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth, adjusting his swollen groin as best he could, before fastening the snug britches and reaching for his undershirt. "Mayhap being smushed will teach junior a lesson."

Grell couldn't help but giggle, "Darling, as delicious as those slacks make your butt look, those are mine and are not only too tight for your hips, but too short for your legs, as well!" he said, soon breaking out into a fit of giggles, finding himself shaking too much to continue to search through his limited wardrobe for something to wear. In his depression he hadn't paid much mind to where he put things, so when his laundry came back, he'd just left them on the floor.

Undertaker glanced down at the pants he'd just finished stuffing himself into. Sure enough, the legs of the pants stopped a ridiculous half-foot above his ankles. He'd been in such a hurry to get some clothing on before temptation to be a lecher won out that he hadn't paid attention to what he was grabbing "Are they? Goodness, that's embarrassing. I _thought_ they felt tighter than usual."

Pallid face going slightly pink, the ancient peeled the garment back off and rummaged through the trunk to find the right pair. He located his proper britches and he slipped them on with a bit more ease than before. The only fortunate thing about the mix up was that his embarrassment effectively cooled his passion enough to make it easier to fit his goods into the pants. Now dressed in his own pants, he turned around with a somewhat sheepish grin.

"Well, that's a spot better, yeah? At least I didn't burst any seams when I forced myself into your trousers. Er...I don't know if you want t' wear those, after I dragged 'em on myself."

"I'll check the seams tonight before bed and make any repairs," Grell said, still a giggle on his voice. He pulled out another pair of slacks and put them on before following it up with a simple shirt and a dark red vest with a rose embroidered on the right breast pocket.

Undertaker watched him covertly as he too finished dressing, finalizing the outfit with his signature top-hat. He had something to do today, but he couldn't recall what it was. He frowned in perplexity and tapped his nails against his chin.

"Oh, right," he finally sighed. "Research. I've got to start hitting the books on th' procedure to rid Mr. Humphries of the Thorns. Boring stuff, that, but it'll be worth it if we can pull it off."

He would ordinarily find anything to do with manipulation of cinematic records fascinating, but something had changed since Grell miscarried. What used to be all in good fun and for satisfying his curiosity was now becoming...tedious. That surprised him a bit, and he looked at his lover again and forced a smile, closing the distance to take Grell's hands and bring them to his lips for a kiss, one at a time.

"Not sure you'd be interested in any of it, but if you decide you're bored enough to come to the lab I've set up and keep me company later on, feel free. I s'pose you and the other officers ought t' be practicing your shooting a bit with those noisy new scythes."

"There's no grace to them, and the only technique to them is learning to shoot straight and hit what you mean to," Grell muttered, "but they have such a long range and speed, that even a scythe like Will's wouldn't be a match. I'll only use one to bring them down, and if I do that...I best get used to handling one." The redhead slowly walked to the door with his lover and rested his hand on the handle. "Afterwards...maybe I will come by to watch you work."

He lingered there a moment longer before taking a deep breath and pulling the door open and stepping out for the first time since he'd lost their daughter, when not intending to go to her grave. The Undertaker watched him go with an unusually somber expression on his face, and when Grell was out the door, a small smile graced the ancient's lips.

"Good on you, love. One step at a time."

* * *

-To be continued


	18. Chapter 18

Ronald stood out on their gun range that they had set up for practice; his assigned scythe gun in hand and loaded with harmless practice shots. He lifted it and took aim at the target across from him and pulled the trigger.

His shots rang out, the gun recoiling with each one as he sent the practice bullets speeding through the air and into the target. The young blond seemed to have a talent for using guns, as the grouping on his target sheets proved. Tight little formations in the center of the paper.

It was fun, and strangely relaxing for the young reaper to shoot at the targets.

Ronald set down his gun on the counter in front of him and he pulled the string to bring the target paper safely back to him to add to the stack of his practice shots. Then he glanced over at William, who was in the practice booth next to him.

William had good aim on his first shot, but he kept having to take pause afterwards to realign, or his grouping would be all over the place. Hoping the man wouldn't mind the help; Ronald waited for William to finish reloading his gun with practice bullets before he slipped over behind him and guided his hand up to take aim.

"Once you take aim, hold your arm still. You let it move too much during your gun's recoil. Your timing and accuracy should improve like this." He suggested.

William glanced at him, and for a moment he considered making a protest...but Ronald was certainly more familiar with firearms than he was. He'd already proven that. His groupings were much better than most of the other reapers practicing and he seemed much more at ease. With a little sigh, he allowed Ronald to guide his hand.

"Reapers were never meant to—" He started to complain, but then Eric fired off a few shots to the left of him, and his aim was nearly as good as Ronald's. With a faint grimace, he admitted defeat. Perhaps _some_ reapers weren't naturally inclined to the odd weapons, but others evidently were.

"You'll get the hang of it. You just can't think on it too long, make it instinct. Let the gun become an extension of your body, like how you are so natural and comfortable with your normal scythe. This isn't as graceful as what you are used to, so it'll take time. But you are the most stubborn man I know! I know you can do it if you set your mind to it." The blond encouraged, "Besides, You aren't replacing your scythe. You'll have it with you if you need it. The guns are just to help in the more sticky situations."

He smirked, "I know I'm excited for them, but I'm not blind. Guns have limited ammo. Once you run out they are only useful as tiny clubs or a throwing rock of sorts. It'd be stupid not to have our normal scythes with us. And from what Eric and Grell have told us, not all of the new dispatch agents kept their traditional scythes. They are restricted by that choice, and we won't be."

Ronald made sure William's arm was positioned correctly and when the man felt too stiff, Ronald ran his hand over the small of his back to make him relax slightly. "You want to be firm, but you can hurt yourself if you don't relax a little. Remember that and try again." he suggested. "Don't think, just shoot."

William drew a slow breath and took his advice. He eyed the target with determination and he fired off a shot, followed by another one. His aim was indeed improving. He fired a few more and he managed to hit close to the center on the last one. Pleased with the results, he nearly smiled. He tilted his head to the side to speak to his companion over the noise of the gunfire on the range.

"Perhaps _you_ should be in charge of the training of firearms, Ronald."

"You think?" Ronald grinned, tugging the string to wheel in William's newest grouping to evaluate it. It was a lot better than all his previous ones.

Ronald had yet to be assigned a real job in prep for the war that would be starting soon, and simply doing his assigned chores was hardly a remedy. Alex had his hacking to keep him busy, Undertaker was both making dolls and looking into that cure of Thorns for Alan, and Even Alan was put in charge of inventory. Everyone had their jobs on top of their chores around their base, but Ronald kept finding himself in the way or bored.

"I could do that. With anyone who needs the help, that is." he said, eyeing Eric's grouping.

William glanced over at Eric as the Scotsman reloaded and started firing again. He could almost feel envious of his accuracy, but then he saw the look in his eyes behind the blue-tinted glasses and he changed his mind. No, he didn't envy Eric Slingby, right now. There was grim purpose behind his eyes and expression; a sort of desperation born of his desire to protect his partner and the family they were just starting together. That sort of emotional draw might give him more focus and accuracy with his weapons, but it was bound to get in the way of common sense sooner or later.

Upon looking over at Grell—who had just come out to join them in practice—William grimaced a little. The redhead had begun firing on his target with reckless abandon, seemingly aiming not so much for accuracy as to pepper it with so many bullets that it would be torn to shreds regardless. There was fury in Grell's eyes as he went through far too much ammo to be efficient.

"I would suggest you begin with your former mentor," recommended William with a nod towards the reaper in question. His gaze went to Eric again. While Slingby wasn't wasting bullets like Grell, the way he was focusing purely on the target and not at his surroundings at all was worrisome. "I believe I should have a talk with Slingby."

Ronald looked a little nervous, "Only if he gets that out of his system. These practice bullets wont kill me, but they will hurt." It was no secret that Grell's emotions were still unstable, and he had always had a violent streak. Ronald had learned right off not to get in the red reaper's way.

"But I'll go offer if he'll listen. First, however," Ron turned back to his lover and tugged him down into a kiss, "For luck. Rhea knows I may need it..." he said before walking over to the booth Grell was using. The paper target was already peppered with so many holes it was hardly there on the clip any longer. He'd have to wait until Grell's gun was empty before confronting him.

* * *

William stared after his lover, momentarily stunned by the sudden public display of affection. He noticed Eric smirking, though the Scotsman's eyes remained fixated on his target. Perhaps Slingby wasn't quite as unaware of his surroundings as he seemed to be. Straightening his jacket and clearing his throat, William avoided staring at Ronald's retreating backside and he approached Eric.

"Slingby, I believe I should have a word with you to the side."

Eric shot him a glance, and he paused to reload his gun. "I dinnae say a thing, boss." He still thought of William as his supervisor, despite the situation they were in.

William felt his face heating. So that smirk _was_ about his brief little moment with Ronald. "It isn't about my personal moment with Ronald. This is about you. I have some concerns that I think we may need to address."

Eric's brows furrowed as he finished putting the clip in, and he holstered the gun at his hip. "If yer abou' tae discourage me from takin' part in tha fight, save it."

"No, it isn't about that, either," William assured him. "Come. Walk with me for a moment."

Eric shrugged broad shoulders and fell into step with him as William led the way, heading away from the firing range they'd set up and toward a quieter spot on the grounds. "Wha's on yer mind, boss?"

William decided that the cliff overlooking the ocean was a good enough spot, and he stopped and turned to regard the other reaper. He was very much aware that his back was to a long drop, and while he and Eric were of a height, they were not of a size. The man could likely pick him up and toss him down to the jagged rocks below, if he got incensed by his next words. With that in mind, William chose said words carefully.

"You have a lot on your mind. We all do. What concerns me about you is that your focus is quite singular, right now. I know that you have agreed not to join the direct battle unless needed for it, but I cannot help but see...well...I rather see a caged lion, when I look at you. Were you the animal you so remind us all of, you would be pacing restlessly behind bars, right now."

Eric smirked and looked out at the horizon, the wind blowing a wavy strand of blond hair over one eye. "Ya see all tha', do yeh? Wull, dun' worry. I made a promise tae Al that I'd defend tha settlement an' stay by his side. I mean tae keep it."

"Yes," agreed William with a nod, "but my concern is that should they press an attack on the settlement whilst we are away fighting to reclaim our division, you may be too distracted by concern for your partner to pay enough attention to what's happening around you."

Eric grimaced. "Lemme ask ya this, Will. If it were Ronnie, would ya feel any different?"

William lowered his gaze, briefly shaken by the question. "I suppose if he were in the same condition as Alan...yes. How I feel and how I react are two different matters, however. We cannot afford to allow our concern for our allies and loved ones to dull our senses. Do you understand what I am trying to say to you, Eric?"

The Scotsman's eyes met his, and Eric nodded once...curtly. "Aye. I'm no' a fool, William. I know wha's a' stake here, an' I'd ne'er let mah own protective urges fook up mah instincts. If I seem too intense righ' now, it's jus' because I'm tryin' tae get a handle on this new scythe. Ye've go' nothin' tae worry about."

William decided to let it go with one final statement. At least Eric had listened to him and didn't get overtly offended. "Very well then. Just do keep it in mind that you are not expendable, should it come to a fight. Your task will be to help cover those who remain behind so that you may _all_ escape together, should they come for you."

Eric gave a little salute. "Crystal clear, boss."

Satisfied that he'd made his point, William nodded. "Then please feel free to resume your practice, as I shall do the same with mine."

* * *

"Uh, Grell-senpai?" Ronald spoke up when Grell lowered his gun and popped out the empty cartridge.

Grell glanced side-long at the boy who had been his junior, "What do you want?" he asked curtly, forcefully snapping a fresh cartridge into his gun and lifting it to take aim at the target again.

"Well...that is, William suggested I come help you." he said, shifting his weight nervously.

"I'm perfectly fine." The reply came.

The blond sighed, "I wouldn't be inclined to agree when you are simply mindlessly wasting practice rounds. We don't exactly have a limitless supply, you know."

"I don't really care. Practice is practice," Grell said, taking his eyes off the blond and taking aim.

Ronald reached forward and carefully pushed Grell's hands down before taking the gun and setting it aside, "Do you need to talk?" he asked. "We could go raid the kitchen for ice cream and you can rant to me like we always used to when something was on your mind."

Grell narrowed his eyes at the blond, studying him a moment before he sighed and hung his head, shoulders slumping.

"And then you can come out here again and we can take a look at your groupings." Ronald added.

"I hate how I can never stay annoyed with you, Mustard Seed." The redhead gave in, letting Ronald lead him away from the range and to the kitchen, though not before he unloaded the gun for safety.

* * *

"Looks like we have... Vanilla and Strawberry swirl." Ronald said, shifting through the freezer.

"I think you already know my preference." Grell said, clicking two clean spoons together as if they were chopsticks. In his other hand he held two bowls and the scoop.

"One of each it is!" Ronald said, taking both out and setting them on the counter. He then served them both a good sized bowl, handing Grell the Strawberry before he put the ice cream back in the freezer so it wouldn't melt. After that, he took his own bowl and hopped up on the counter to sit while he ate.

"So, what's been on your mind that makes you so angry in the shooting range?" he asked.

"It's so stupid." Grell sighed dramatically, poking at the red swirls in his ice cream, "I hate using those stupid things. They had nearly forced one on me when I was with them. I never used it, though. My scythe is perfect! I don't need those silly, tiny little sorry excuse for a scythe! But...they forced so much on me...even what I did with Unnie. I thought I could handle it, but I couldn't. I ended up falling in love and..."

He paused and gripped his spoon so tight the silver bent, "They forced that pain on me. If they hadn't made me try to recruit my darling Unnie...maybe he and I would have been more careful...maybe I wouldn't know the pain of loosing what we almost had together. We could have waited until times were better!"

His sorrowful look hardened into anger again. "I'm going to make them pay for it. I'm going to gun them down with the same nasty type of scythes as they tried to make me use in stead of my chainsaw!"

Ronald frowned but gave a small nod, "I could help teach you to use it more efficiently." he suggested, "Overkill is great for revenge, sure, but what happens if you waste all your bullets before you even reach your target? I can teach you to best use your ammo to save it until you find the bastards you are after."

Grell blinked in surprise, "You aren't going to report me and have my gun taken away? Have me taken off the team for the assault on Dispatch?"

"Not my place." Ronald shook his head. "And this is important to you, so I'd like to help if you'd let me."

"Ronnie..." Grell set down his bowl and in a blink of an eye; he was hanging off the blond—who let out a gasp in protest. "You're the best! I knew I liked you for a reason!"

"Can't-breathe!" Ronald choked, almost dropping his bowl.

The red reaper released him and grinned. It was the first real smile he'd given anyone other than Undertaker since he'd miscarried. "I'll make you a deal. I'll let you help me out on the shooting range if you tell me what kind of underpants Willie wears!"

"That is personal information about my lover you are asking me to disclose!" Ronald said, crossing his arms, "So no blabbing! He wears boxers, mostly. Sometimes boxer-briefs. Simple shades of blue. Nothing fun and surprising for a man like him if that's what you were going after."

"How very like him..." Grell sighed, "Let's finish our icy treat so we can go out to practice—for real this time. No more wasting bullets."

* * *

William briefly wondered why Grell cast such a sudden, sharp-toothed grin at him and then sighed and shook his head with a shrug. He didn't get the chance to wonder for long, because Lawrence Anderson came jogging towards him from the path leading up to the retreat they were living in. The former supervisor put on the safety of his gun and he met Anderson halfway.

"Is there a problem?" he muttered as loudly as he dared—just loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the firing guns.

"Not precisely," replied the ancient in the same low voice. "My contacts from London have arrived, Mr. Spears. They have the location of two weapon facilities of the enemy. We cannot tarry, if we are to procure additional firearms for our side."

William nodded, putting aside his reservations about going on two more raids so soon. The more they stirred the wasp nest, the greater the danger. "Then we should call for a meeting of the council and make our plans. I still believe you are the best qualified to lead us, Father Anderson. Please make your arrangements, and I shall prepare."

"Absolutely," agreed the elder reaper. He hesitated for a moment, and he gave William's shoulder a brief squeeze of encouragement. "You are better fit for leadership than you think, however. Your companions look up to you."

"They don't need a supervisor right now," answered William calmly. "They need legends. Please include the Undertaker, sir. His presence and yours stirs their courage more than my rigid disciplinary behavior ever could."

Lawrence chuckled softly and shook his head. "I think in the case of Undertaker, it would be more apt to say 'intimidates'...but I shall take you word for it. One hour, Mr. Spears. We shouldn't let it go for longer than that."

Again, William nodded. "I concur. One hour."

He watched for a moment as Lawrence hurried away with impressive speed, and then he walked over to Ronald. "Sorry to interrupt," he said when Grell paused to reload, "but a meeting will begin within the hour. Please be ready on time, Ronald. You shall be included in this one."

Ronald blinked up at William, "There wasn't a meeting scheduled today...did something happen?"

"If it's more bad news I'd rather not listen in." Grell said, putting his gun away, "Maybe I'll go busy myself elsewhere."

William was feeling more charitable than usual towards Grell, due to the recent loss of his unborn. "It isn't anything horrible," he assured. "If it will comfort you to know, we shall be discussing the possibility of raiding two more Dispatch weapon locations. I tell you this because the Undertaker shall be expected to assist, and I believe you have the right to know."

"Wait, you are taking _Ronnie_ on a raid?" Grell asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ronald huffed, crossing his arms, "I'm perfectly capable."

"It's dangerous!" Grell said, surprising even himself, "You're my junior—just a kid! What if something goes wrong? I can't lose you, too. You're like my cute little baby brother!"

"You never even knew me as a baby...and I'm as adult as anyone else stuck in this mess..." Ronald trailed off, Grell's meaning clicking in his mind, finally.

Grell had just lost his baby, and if he had grown to see Ronald as his little brother then...it made sense that the redhead would want to protect him.

"Grell..." he rested his hand on his shoulder, "I'll be fine. You trained me yourself, remember? I totally learned from the best." he grinned.

William gave a slow nod, likewise connecting the dots. "Yes, Ronald handles himself quite well on the field, Sutcliff...er...Grell. You had a significant hand in that. I promise you that I will be at his side throughout, as well. Our goal will be to go in, collect what we can and to get out. Just as before."

Grell studied the two and sighed, nodding in defeat. "You're right. He knows how to handle himself... But if anything happens to him I'm blaming you, William!" He said, poking the man's chest. "You stole his heart, but you have to protect his body and soul, too!"

"You kidding? With Will by my side any trouble we find will turn tail!" Ronald grinned. "I'll come back perfectly fine and we can eat more ice cream."

"I think our biggest concern is going to be when we move in to take back our Dispatch," reminded William bluntly. "Until such time comes, we should all focus on honing our skills. Now that I have said that, please resume your practice. I shall go to the council chambers and help Father Anderson to set things up. Please...continue." He made a polite gesture towards the target that Grell had just been shooting at.

"I'll be there in a bit." Ronald nodded, resisting the urge to pat the man's rear as he turned to go on his way. Rather, he turned back to Grell, "Okay, let's try that again, this time try to relax a little more. I'm worried you'll hurt yourself. Don't hyper-extend your elbow. Let it have just a small amount of give..." he touched Grell's elbow to make sure it was positioned safely. Then he stepped back, "Okay, try now."

Shots rang out as Grell pulled his trigger, sending bullets into the target in a tighter grouping than before. Shaking his head and marveling at Ronald's unexpected skill with firearms, William moved on and started up the path. He went directly to the council chambers and he found Anderson and the Undertaker already there. "Well then," he announced as he took his seat at the table. "Let us begin our preparations, shall we? I would like to nominate that Grell Sutcliff and Eric Slingby are included in the council."

Undertaker and Lawrence glanced at each other, both shrugging in unison. "I've got no arguments about that," said the mortician. "How about you, old chap?"

"None here," agreed Lawrence. "None here, but it's really for the council to decide. We shall take a vote as soon as all members arrive, and once it's decided, we can move onto the meeting."

William nodded. "Good, then. Let's sit down and plan out our course."

Both elders agreed with him, and they sat down together to begin discussing how the meeting's events would take place.

* * *

Eric stepped uncertainly into the council chambers with his spouse, feeling oddly out of place. This was the first real demonstration of trust that they'd shown him, since his defection from the ranks of Dispatch. He saw Grell sitting beside the Undertaker at the table and he relaxed somewhat. At least he wasn't the only "rogue" there. While Father Anderson and the Undertaker's loyalty had been under question before, neither of them had actively been working with the enemy. Holding Alan's hand in his, he took his place at the table across from Grell and Undertaker, and he swallowed his nervousness. Anderson took the head of the table as Ronald came in and sat beside William.

"Friends, we have an opportunity," began Lawrence. "There are two locations that we know of right now which can be raided for weaponry, if we move quickly. All that we need now is the sanction of the council to strike."

Fabian Olson raised a hand, his reaper eyes grave beneath the flaxen locks feathering over his forehead. He spoke with a Danish accent. "One moment, Father Anderson. We have concerns."

Lawrence looked at the Dane, lifting an eyebrow. "About what, Mr. Olson?"

Fabian briefly compressed his lips. "Scouting, for one. I feel we should send in scouts first, before charging in to attack these compounds. I have no fear of fighting, but we are few in numbers."

William nodded. "I must agree with Mr. Olson on this. We have already raided one of their facilities, and they may be expecting more."

Undertaker coughed into his hand. "True, that...which is why I say we ought t' divide our forces. If this is a carrot they're dangling for us, we'd best not put all our eggs in one basket."

Lawrence considered the advice. "I concur. Are we still in agreement to move in, however?" He looked around at the assembly. "Are there any further thoughts on the matter? Please, feel free to speak. We _are_ short on time, but as mentioned by others, we needn't be reckless."

"I'd also suggest that we shouldn't take unnecessary risks. The two teams should be made up of able volunteers. We can't risk having a nervous man on the team making foolish mistakes because he doesn't want to be there." Alan suggested from Eric's side, "I know that limits us more, but it is out of precaution."

"No mater what, we are risking our forces." Ron shrugged, "So if key people go with us, we'd better hope nothing goes wrong. Like, if Pocket-salt over there comes. He's our only computer expert. We need his ability to hack Dispatch's system."

Alex shrugged and gave one of his usual smiles when everyone looked his way. "I'm down with whatever. I'll uh...try to keep my 'pocket salt' to myself'."

Fabian smirked at him, before turning to address Anderson. "The desire to procure these weapons is completely understandable. We have not survived for this long by taking half-steps, however. I elect that certain parties remain behind; including Mr. Jeffries."

Alex frowned severely at the flaxen-ponytailed Dane, and he stood up. "Whoa there, hold on a sec—"

"All points made are valid," interrupted Lawrence before the young English Dispatch agent could finish speaking, "and I must agree that those with special skills should not be involved."

With a dejected sigh, Alex plopped back down into his seat. He gave Ronald a killing look that said he blamed him entirely for this. "Great work, Knox. Thanks a bunch." He was clearly beginning to resent Ronald's relentless picking on him.

"Keep the ones here that can do the most for the community, if we get into a fix," stated Undertaker. He gave Grell's hand a brief squeeze beneath the table and he grinned. "It's the wolves you want t' unleash, after all. We'll drive the wedge through and shred 'em whilst the others come in behind to collect the goods. Seems a good plot to me."

"Don't look at me, Salty!" Ronald said, putting up his hands, "I only pointed out you are valuable to our small group and aren't as easily replaced! It's not an insult. I didn't expect ya to get kicked off the raid team. Jeeze, yell at a guy once and he blames you for everything!"

"Ronnie, Now's not the time!" Grell scolded him, obviously not afraid to voice himself in this meeting.

William somehow avoided rolling his eyes into the back of his skull. He nudged his lover subtly and he muttered to him out the corner of his mouth. "I did not push for your presence on the council so that you could play sandbox games, Ronald. Do behave!"

Across from them, Fabian muttered something to Alex and the auburn-haired reaper settled down with a telling blush. Anderson ignored all of it in the fashion of a seasoned professional, and he dropped a little mallet on the table. "So then are we in agreement? Separate teams will be chosen to go after these targets and procure what weaponry we can?"

Undertaker had to take a moment to compose himself—far too amused by the rivalry antics between Knox and Jeffries to speak right away. He choked a little, coughed and then nodded. "Sounds good t' me."

"As well as I," agreed William with a warning glare at both his lover and Alex. "The council has chosen, so let us cast the final vote and get this task over with."

Ronald crossed his arms, sulking silently. Now Alex had gone and got him scolded by his own lover! Every time he tried to be nice the guy reminded him why he didn't like him.

"I believe Everyone agrees this is the best option we have." Alan said from his seat, one hand on his belly, "As no one have voiced any objections."

Lawrence nodded. "Very good, then. We shall put out notice to our most skilled agents and collect the names of those who wish to volunteer for the mission. Mr. Slingby, you seem troubled. Will you share what's on your mind?"

Eric grimaced, his gaze flicking between the council and his partner. "I'd love tae help, but I've got mah partner tae think of."

Lawrence nodded in understanding. "Of course, and you have a child on the way. I think everyone here can agree that you won't be expected to attend. Better that you remain behind and help guard our sanctuary. I'm certain you'll have the opportunity to fight against the enemy soon enough, after your little one is born."

Eric relaxed someone and took Alan's hand, under the table. "Sounds like a fair plan tae me."

Alan squeezed his lover's hand, silently glad that Eric had not volunteered. He wouldn't have asked him to stay, but he would have worried about him until they returned.

Undertaker glanced at Grell, and he sighed a little. On the one hand, he wasn't sure if the redhead was up for a confrontation in his frame of mind, but on the other, his rage might come handy. "Well, you can toss my name in the hat, Anderson. I'll lead one of the teams and you can lead the other. First, I'd best send some of my winged friends to have a better look at these locations you've picked out."

"Excellent idea," agreed Lawrence. "While you're doing that, I shall collect volunteer names."

"You may count mine amongst them," offered William.

"Mine too!" Ronald agreed, his comment nearly cutting off William's.

"And mine." Grell's voice rang out, surprising nearly everyone in the room. "I'd like to go."

"...Are you sure you are ready, Grell?" Alan asked with a concerned frown.

The redhead nodded, "Don't worry about me. It's about time I pulled my own weight around here, and I am anxious to take these bastards down."

Undertaker smiled, and if it was a bit strained, nobody seemed to notice. "Right then, you'll be on my team, lovely. Now 'scuse me while I step outside and call my feathered friends to do a bit of scouting."

He lingered over Grell's chair long enough to give his shoulders a little squeeze, and then he made his exit and left it up to Lawrence to do the rest.

* * *

Outside near the trees, away from the noise of the practice range, Undertaker stood in the shadows and gave the mental call. A short while later, two ravens flew out of the forest to land on his shoulders. "Afternoon, friends," he said to the birds. "You know what it is I need, yeah? Try to make it fast, and don't act suspicious. Dispatch probably knows I can communicate with you lot, so don't linger too long and don't act too much smarter than the average ravens."

He opened two separate portals to the reaper side, and he sent the two ravens through them. "Take care, friends."

Hugin and Munin took their respective portals to the other side, calling out as they flew through them. Undertaker closed the portals, and he sat down on a fallen tree trunk and waited to hear back from them. Inwardly, he prayed to gods that Grell would keep his head enough to do this task without putting himself at un-necessary risk.

"Don't' know how y' did it to me," he whispered, "but I'm so bloody in love with you I can hardly see straight, Miss Sutcliff."

He smirked and shook his head, trying to put thoughts of Grell's safety aside.

* * *

While the Undertaker was waiting for his avian scouts to return, Lawrence was gathering the names of volunteers for the raiding missions. He requested help from those attending the meeting to spread the word faster, cautioning them to approach only Dispatch agents and leave civilians and those from other departments out of it. William took Ronald with him to seek out the agents he knew to be from the correct departments, relying on his charisma to help convince them to participate.

"Some may be reluctant, after everything that has happened," he warned his lover as they traveled the hallways of the retreat. "I imagine we'll find the most able-bodied and able-minded reapers out on the firing range, so we should probably go there first. Even as they practice with these new scythes, I fear they may still need convincing."

They were all traumatized by the events that had turned their world upside-down, after all. Even those who had seen plenty of combat before might not be so eager to go directly up against Dispatch.

"Yeah, well, we didn't exactly have the greatest time fleeing dispatch, either, yet here we are. We all want to see this take-over end. We all want to see Dispatch become a safe place for all reapers again. Some may not be ready, but let's give them more credit than that." Ronald said as the firing range drew closer, shots ringing out from the guns dedicated to practice for any and all reapers who wished to do so. "Besides, lots of these guys are waiting for a gun of their own. This would be their chance to claim one and not have to share one of the practice guns. If we are lucky, we can nab enough that we wont need practice guns anymore and any reaper who helps fight can have one as well as those who stay here to guard the base. After the new guns and ammo are de-bugged, that is."

William nodded in agreement. "Indeed. I think our first recruit should be Chesterfield over there. He's a good agent and Father Anderson vouches for him."

The reaper in question had sandy, wavy blond hair down to his shoulders, feathered back from his face. He seemed to be a quiet, stoic sort, and he was currently focusing on his target practice. He wore a pair of protective goggles over his glasses as he methodically fired and reloaded the clip in his practice gun.

"I'll start," offered William, "and if he seems reluctant, you assist me in persuading him. I believe we can convince most of our choices to join this endeavor without too terribly much convincing."

"Shouldn't be too hard with these guys." Ronald nodded, "Call me over if you need help, though. I'll go start with that guy." he said, pointing to another reaper who wore a hat over short black hair. The man had just finished out a cartage of amo and was walking over to collect a few new ones.

"...I hope he speaks English or Italian...Haven't talked to that guy before. Don't know where he's from..." The blond added as a side-note to himself as he split off away from his lover to speak with the man.

William parted ways with Ronald to approach Lance. He nodded in approval at the man's grouping on his target, and he cleared his throat when he paused to reload. "Impressive aim, Mr. Chesterfield."

Lance turned to regard him and he gave a respectful nod of greeting. "Good day to you, Mr. Spears. Can I help you?"

"I certainly hope so," answered William. "As you know, we have been planning to procure more of those gun scythes for our ranks, until we can begin manufacturing them ourselves. A meeting occurred today regarding the subject, and Father Anderson believes we should move in on a couple of locations by tomorrow. Dispatch is likely aware that we've already taken some of them, so these storage facilities likely will not be left stocked for very long. We require two solid teams of reapers for this endeavor, and I would like for you to be one of them."

"Oh?" Chesterfield finished loading his weapon and he clicked on the safety. "Who's leading this mission, sir?"

"Anderson and the Undertaker, respectively. Mr. Knox, Mr. Sutcliff and I shall be on the Undertaker's team. Mr. Olson has already agreed to join Father Anderson's team. We hope to have at least seven good agents on each team. That leaves three more volunteers to recruit for ours and five more for Anderson's."

Lance nodded. "I see. Well in that case, I'll volunteer for Anderson's team. If you like, I can recommend some others."

"That would be very helpful," agreed William, relaxing. "If you would be so kind as to speak with those whom you recommend, I would sincerely appreciate it."

"Of course, sir. I can get started on that right away."

"Excellent." William considered the matter for a moment. "Just keep in mind that we should not exceed ten agents. While the greater numbers might prove useful against any opposition we may face, for this endeavor it would be best not to have too large a group of reapers to keep up with. Our task is to go in, strike quickly and leave with whatever we can carry. These aren't any of the larger storage facilities, so they should not be as heavily guarded or monitored."

Lance nodded. "That sounds reasonable to me. I'll find you when I have their answers, Mr. Spears."

William left him to his devices and went to find Ronald and check on his progress.

* * *

"I don't like it!" Grell growled, looking into the mirror hanging on the wall in William and Ronald's room. A frown tugged on his lips as he studied his reflection. He'd gone to Ronald's room to get ready for the raid along with the blond, directly after they finished dinner.

The sun was quickly disappearing over the horizon to the east, shedding long dark shadows over the ground. The group had agreed to make their move after dark, once they had recruited enough volunteers. And as a result of using the darkness to their advantage, they wanted to make sure they could blend into the environment the best they could - All black.

"There isn't even a touch of red! Do I have to have the hat? It hides my lovely braided bun I worked hard on!"

"We want to blend in, Grell, not stand out." Ronald said as he tugged on a black jacket to cover his arms. He also had on a black hat to help hide his sunny-blond hair, black gloves, and the only part of him not covered in black was his face. "You can get back into your red clothes when we all get back."

"Blood won't even show up if things get messy!" The red reaper pouted.

"Maybe it'll splash your face, then." He checked his wristwatch, "We should head out. We already wasted time finding clothes that fit you well enough. William already headed to the place where we are going to portal from."

"Unnie's probably still talking to the birds." Grell shrugged, "Can I at least put on lipstick? Please, Ronnie?"

"Really? This isn't a party, Grell."

"So? I'm doing it anyway!" Grell said, grabbing his bag and pulling out red lipstick, turning back to the mirror to apply it. "If we are late, we should do it in style! Want some?"

"No fucking thanks." Ron shivered, "I'm going on ahead. Don't take too long. This raid is important!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Grell finished applying his lips and smiled at his reflection, taking a moment to press a kiss to his reflection, leaving behind red lip marks before he twirled around and ran after the blond.

William quickly sidestepped the outrageous crimson reaper as Grell came into the room, and he stared after him with one brow elegantly raised. "Well, that was...odd," he muttered after stepping in and closing the door behind him. He looked Ronald over, and he felt a certain appreciation for the way the form-fitting outfit hugged his body in certain places. "You, on the other hand, look splendid in that attire. I suppose I should be following your examples and changing myself. I just finished discussing things with the Undertaker and he has confirmed that the facilities aren't heavily guarded...nor did his spies see anything that would indicate they have placed a trap."

"If you change, you should quickly if we want to depart on time." Said a female reaper with black hair in a high ponytail. She wasn't dressed in black, but she was in a dark navy blue outfit. Every reaper on the raid had similar thoughts about wearing dark clothes. William seemed the only one who hadn't thought on the subject of changing before now. His clothes were mostly dark, but he was supporting a white shirt under his vest. But William had been quite busy with other preparations

"At least grab a jacket to cover them sleeves." Another reaper agreed as he passed out scythe-bullets to be used should the raid turn sour on them. "Hate to see you get shot because of it. You are a valuable part of our team, sir."

"And maybe stop ogling Ronnie-boy's butt." Grell pointed out.

"Hey, he can ogle me all he wants!" Ronald smirked.

William hastily looked away from Ronald, face flushing with embarrassment and annoyance. "Thank you all for the suggestions, but I already have a uniform planned for this endeavor. Now if you will please excuse us, I will indeed change."

He eyed Grell when the crimson reaper hesitated at the door. "If it weren't obvious enough, Sutcliff, that means you all need to exit this room to give me privacy. I've no intention of making a display of myself."

"Well, why not? You have nothing to be ashamed of, I'm sure!" Grell grinned, "Plus the visual would help me in imagining you and Ronnie together! I already know exactly what he looks like, after all! Oh, don't look at me like that! Your Ronnie is a cutie, especially when he bends over to display that cute little rear, but he's not my type. I never touched him-in that way, that is! Ronnie, do stop glaring at me!"

"Grell, please stop talking!" Ronald groaned, pushing Grell out the door.

The others quickly followed, having heard enough and seen the vein begin to throb at William's temple. The former Dispatch supervisor breathed a sigh of relief once they were out the door, and he went into the bathroom to take his anxiety medication, before coming back out again to gather up his outfit and change into it. It was more form-fitting than he preferred, but it was made of resilient material that had stretchy qualities to allow for easier movement. He wore no cap, seeing as his hair was already black. He sighed as he fit the gun holster on and turned to Ronald.

"I feel ridiculous," he stated; used to dressing in looser, fancier clothes. The knee-high boots and the long jacket he'd yet to put on were about the only parts he liked about the ensemble.

"Mmm, but you look hot." Ronald grinned, "Doesn't leave much to the imagination, really. I like it, and when we get back safe and sound into our room, I intend to take full advantage of it!" he walked past William, his gloved hand sliding over Will's tight rear.

William nearly jumped at the sudden contact, but his surprise was immediately tempered with intrigue, blended with desire. They hadn't had much time for intimacy since their first time together, thanks to all of the recent events. Both of them had been so busy that they barely had the energy to do more than kiss and exchange a few touches at night. William forced away thoughts of the ways he would take Ronald up on his offer. He slipped his jacket on and secured it shut, and then he summoned his regular scythe. The pistol was for certain situations. Until then, he would stick with what he was most familiar and comfortable with.

"Ready?" Ron smiled, kissing his jaw line before pulling away, "'cuz I sure am."

Seeing as William's mind was half on the mission and half on Ronald's promise to take advantage of him later, he heard a double entendre in that statement. He raised a brow and smirked at him. "I can't be sure whether you want to fight or fuck, Ronald."

It wasn't like him to use such vulgarities casually, but his lover had a talent for bringing out a different side of him.

"Perhaps both?" Ronald winked. "We get a good fight and fuck, we'll be set for a good night's sleep, too. But one thing at a time. Can't be thinking of the party when there is work to do."

"Hmm, you've become better at prioritizing," approved William. He spared a moment to give Ronald a brief but promising kiss. "Shall we, then?"

"Keep kissing me like that and you may just undo any maturing I have done over these past few months!" Ron teased, "Come on, everyone is waiting to go raid the dispatch's warehouses!"

* * *

Some twenty minutes later, Undertaker's team stepped out of a large portal and into the mortal realm. Glancing up at the sky to determine how many hours they had until dawn, the mortician readied his scythe. "Right then everyone, the game plan is to get in and back out with everything we can carry. I'm not expecting a lot of trouble but if these blokes manage to get some allies to teleport in and we start getting overrun, don't hesitate t' call it a night and portal to safety. You all know not to make a portal straight back to our headquarters from here. Do that somewhere else so you have the time to make it untraceable and not lead these buggars straight to us. Any questions?"

"Can we blow the place up when we leave, Sir?" asked one of the recruits, "Take what we can, but leave them nothing?"

"That...could be fun." Ronald thought out loud, a mischievous look on his face.

Undertaker snickered. "One thing at a time, dearies...one thing at a time. We'll see about that after we've gotten what we came for, yeah?"

William cleared his throat. "I hate to spoil everyone's fun, but arson is bound to attract even further attention to us. While it is perfectly understandable for some of you to wish it, razing all of their facilities to the ground is more a terrorist tactic, and they will surely announce it as such on the news. They have been moving in on Dispatch for years, correct?"

Undertaker nodded. "Seems so. What do I care how they label us, Spears? Either way, we're the enemy."

"It is not what _they_ think that concerns me," explained William. "It is what the reaper public thinks. Suppose Dispatch lists the names of everyone they know of that 'defected' on the news. We know the truth, but the media will spin it in a way that makes us look like nothing more than violent criminals. Quietly procuring their weapons with as few deaths as possible simply makes them appear foolish. If we begin blowing things up, we shall only give them more fodder to spread their lies."

"Your logic spoils all the fun." Ronald pouted.

"But it is sound. Willy-darling has a point, as much as I hate to admit it. Revenge needs to wait."

"Whoa, whoa, who said anything about revenge? We are just here to steal guns and ammo." another reaper pointed out.

"Of course we are. That's why revenge must wait!" The redhead insisted.

"All right, all right," Undertaker cut in, waving his arms. "You kiddies can argue on this all you want later... _after_ we've done what we came here t' do."

He twisted his hair up and stuffed it down the back of his robes, and then he summoned his death scythe. "Now, get your scythes ready and let's move in."

Everyone summoned their scythes, Ronald having to step back away from the others to do so as his was so large and he didn't want to risk hurting anyone. He grinned and winked, leaning against his scythe at the looks the reapers not from London shot him for having such a large 'clunky' scythe compared to everyone's lighter hand-held scythes. Even Grell's could be handled with only one hand.

"Keep starring and I'll start to think you're jealous of how awesome mine is!"

"I don't know how you manage to handle such an ungainly scythe," remarked the senior officer from Denmark.

"I assure you, Mr. Knox is skilled enough and familiar enough with his scythe to be an asset," said William in a rare moment of praise, "and he is the most accurate gunman in our ranks. Should it come to using our firearms, he has a greater chance than most of hitting his target."

Ronald's cheeks flushed, though his grin grew at the praise.

"Yeah, I trained this kid myself! He's good." Grell said, patting Ronald's head, fondly. "Hasn't failed me once as my partner and junior."

"Can we just get going? You'll make my head too big to fit in the warehouse!" Ron flushed.

William nodded in agreement and politely gesture at the Undertaker. "Please lead the way, sir."

The mortician was all too eager to do so. With one last, covertly worried glance at Grell, he started forth through the darkness like a wraith and the rest of them quietly followed him. Each of them walked softly and kept vocal communication to a minimum as the mood became serious. Undertaker motioned for them all to hang back in the shadows as they neared the storage facility, intending to provide a distraction to give a greater element of surprise.

"Hi hi, chaps," he called out to the three visible guards as he stepped into the artificial light of the outdoor lamps. They predictably drew their scyth guns and eyed him suspiciously. "Sorry t' be a bother, but I've somehow gotten turned around on my way home and now I'm a bit lost. Could you help an old reaper out?"

"What is he doing?!"

"Shh!" Grell slapped his gloved hand over Ronald's mouth as he watched. Inwardly hoping that his lover wouldn't get himself shot before they had even started to stir the pot.

"There is a road over there." one of the guards said, gesturing with the point of his gun, "I suggest you follow it. Either way you go you should hit a town. This is a restricted area—be gone!"

Undertaker lifted his head, revealing a glimpse of his dual-colored eyes beneath the shadowed brim of his hat. "And what if I tell you I've no mind to pay attention to your 'restrictions', mate?"

Before any of the guards could react, he summoned his scythe again and he leaped through the air at them, grinning like a lunatic. The silver crescent of his weapon's blade flashed in the moonlight, along with the buckles of his boots. He'd jumped right in time to avoid the shots fired at him and he came down amidst the guards, spinning his scythe in a deadly whirl. One of them hollered as he was practically shorn in two, while the other stood in shocked silence. The third fired again just as Undertaker's scythe came back up, and there was a musical clang as the blade deflected the bullet shot at its owner. The mortician whistled over the noise, signaling his companions.

"Oh hells," grunted William, starting forward immediately. "Does the man have a death wish?"

"Only a little one." Grell giggled, being the first to rush out of the brush and join the silver reaper.

"You've gotta admit-the old guy's got style." Ron said, soon following Grell, "And luck! Lots of luck he didn't get hit."

"Someone probably heard the shots though, better move fast. -cut the door open." said one of their other members of the raid group.

"On it~" Grell said, already at the door, his scythe roaring to life before he cut right through the heavy metal doors and kicking them open.

"Hullo, darlin'," greeted the Undertaker with a smirk when he saw his crimson lover burst into the scene. He kicked the reaper that had fired a shot at him, connecting his boot solidly with the man's face. "Let's make quick work of this, yeah?"

William came leaping in, twirling his scythe as a pair of additional guards came rushing out. "Undertaker...sir...this really isn't the time for banter!"

The mortician cackled under his breath, even as he dodged another shot fired his way. "You're far too serious for such a young fellow. Lighten up, Willy."

"Please don't call me that," grunted William. He barely managed to avoid a shot and his pole-scythe extended with lightning speed to pin the responsible party against the wall. "This really is not a laughing matter, sir."

"Oh, on the contrary..." Undertaker hopped over a sweeping strike leveled at him from another guard. "I think it's the perfect time!"

"Nah-ah!" Ronald shouted over the roar of his scythe as he burst in through a window high above, his aim perfect as he came down on an expecting guard who had taken aim at one of their comrades, taking him down with the sound of bones crunching, "William's just Will. 'Willy' is his mini-me." he smirked, swinging his heavy scythe up and to the left—right into a second guard and knocking him to the floor. The man dropped his gun and Ron kicked it out of his reach. "Don't make me kill you." he touted with a click of his tongue.

Undertaker led a charge in through the door, spinning his scythe with the grace of a dancer as he brought down additional guards. He grimaced at the shouting as his team followed up and he wondered how in hells the lot of them managed to get anything done with their loudness.

"We don't need a cheering squad," he called out, striking another enemy reaper in the face with his elbow. The man went down like a felled ox, hitting the floor unconscious but not fatally injured. "The poppers! Gather 'em up and get ready to leave!"

William didn't immediately get his meaning when he referred to the firearms as "poppers", and he very nearly got himself beheaded whilst trying to interpret it. He ducked a swing from one of the enemy reapers at the last moment, and he grunted a curse before retaliating.

"You heard his instructions," he hollered over the din of battle. "Collect as many weapon crates as possible and prepare to leave! Our time is short."

Undertaker glanced over his shoulder at Grell to be sure he was all right, and he grinned in spite of himself when he saw the crimson reaper tear into a couple of guards. "Let it out, darlin'," he muttered, even as he himself laid into yet another guard. People could say what they wished about his state of mind, but he knew good therapy when he saw it.

Ronald was the first to the stacks of crates and he pried the lid off of them to make sure they were what they came after. "Sweet, these crates are loaded with the goods!" he called out, ignoring Undertaker's suggestion to be quieter.

Splattered with as much blood as he could manage to get out of the guards who had been unfortunate enough to cross blades with him, Grell swayed over to the crates in much better spirits. "We should get that portal open. We cleared the guards for now but more are likely on their way."

Undertaker nodded and he stretched one arm out, dividing his concentration between what was going on inside the warehouse and creating one of his special portals. "Right. Everyone hurry it up and get to me! We've only got a short window of time, mates."

A bullet whizzed past his head but the mortician didn't allow it to break his concentration. William hastily drew his gun and fired back at the culprit, missing the first two shots but hitting his target on the third. The enemy reaper fell from the catwalk above with a sharp cry, his cinematic records streaming from his body in the process.

"Move quickly," urged William.

"Much quicker!" Ron said, putting the lid back on his crate and stacking it on a second. They were heavy, but everyone was able to push two through the portal at a decent enough speed. He joined the line of reapers pushing their loads through, taking up the rear. Grell was in front of him, and William was taking up the back as Undertaker kept his focus on the portal.

In the distance, shouting voices could be heard...more guards rushing to the scene of their raid.

This was going to be close.

A reaper kicked open another crate after breaking the lock with his regular scythe; a weapon in the form of an axe. He began handing out guns from the crate, while William instructed the assembly line so that their team could pass the weapons quickly down the line to the portal.

"Don't even worry about how they land on the other side, folks," suggested the Undertaker over his shoulder from his position guarding the entrance. "They aren't loaded and we can sort them out once we've finished. Don't forget the ammunition, either."

They moved as quickly as possible, but they only managed to get a few more supplies through the portal before a fresh group of enemy reapers closed in on the facility. Undertaker rushed out to meet them, so full of adrenaline he didn't bother waiting to see if anyone followed him.

The portal flickered, becoming unstable. Ronald gasped, rushing forward and merging his energy with the portal to stabilize it. Though he knew he wasn't as strong as Undertaker. He couldn't last long holding it open, especially if Undertaker lost his concentration completely. It also put him at risk. He couldn't fight, and he hoped that the others had his back.

Half the group had followed Undertaker's lead, including Grell. The rest continued to move their plunder to the other side. The ancient leaped high into the air at their newest opposition, manifesting a bundle of his grave markers and hurling them into their midst. The move effectively provided him some cover from gunfire, as the Dispatch agents were forced to duck or dive away from the assault—or risk impalement. As he came down, Undertaker swung his scythe in a perilous arc. The moaning blade cut down one agent and injured another; nearly severing his arm. Gunfire rang out and Undertaker took one hit in the side, but he didn't allow that to slow him. He saw a flash of red coming up on his right and he grinned.

"I've been wondering what it'd be like to fight by your side, love."

"Better than fighting against me~" Grell grinned, twisting his body in the air as he came down on two reapers, his roaring scythe taking off their heads quickly.

"Better keep up, darling~"

As he landed on his heeled feet, he spun around in a turning back kick, knocking a third enemy reaper back, right into the line of Undertaker's scythe. The reaper's body got cut in two, just as a fourth came running up behind Grell, reloading his gun and cocking it to shoot.

"Grell!" Undertaker shouted when he saw the threat. He had little time to act and less time to think. The Undertaker reacted on impulse, summoning one of his sotoba and launching it at the enemy behind his lover. For one horrifying moment, he feared the grave marker would hit Grell...but it missed him by perhaps half an inch, whizzing past his ear and stirring his hair. The marker struck the preoccupied agent trying to shoot at Grell, the sharp point burying itself into his shoulder and knocking him down.

Grell blinked and turned to look at the fallen reaper with a sotoba in his shoulder. "Close call..." he said, kicking the gun from the man's hand before he was able to get over the shock. "Thanks, Unnie-Darling~" he picked up the handgun and stuck it in his pocket.

The mortician nodded, dry mouthed and a bit shaken by the close call. His heart was pounding so hard that if he were mortal, he might worry he was about to have a heart attack. The question of whether he was really in love with this reaper or just telling himself he loved him because of the child they nearly had together was now answered for the Undertaker. He grinned lopsided at Grell, trying to brush off the scare he'd just gotten. It was an interesting feeling to experience true fear for the first time in longer than he could recall. It was rather exhilarating, in fact.

"Let's finish these fool-born gudgeons off before more of 'em show up, yeah?" Trying not to give away how relieved he was that Grell was okay, Undertaker danced off to take down more of them. The others that had followed him were holding their own, and he told himself he didn't need to babysit Grell as the two of them rejoined the fight again. It was easier said than done, though. He'd even forgotten completely about his own bullet wound, and when the pain in his side flared up with his movements, he faltered just slightly. Shaking it off with a maniacal grin, the ancient culled another enemy...and another after that. One little slug was nothing compared to the condition he'd arrived in when he finally joined the rebels.

"Will!" Ronald shook. "Will, I can't keep this thing open myself!" When Grell had nearly been shot or speared with a sotoba, Undertaker must have forgotten about the portal and dropped it completely, leaving it on the shoulders of the young blond who had just been helping to stabilize it when Undertaker ran off.

Unstable portals were dangerous and could be fatal to people who step through it as there was a possibility that they'd be sliced in half as it fluctuated. At best, the person wouldn't know where they would step through to. Which also meant that guns may not get all the way to where they wanted them, and would be lost.

William turned his attention away from transferring the weapons, and he called out for someone to join him in assisting Ronald with the stabilization of the portal. Soon his efforts joined Ronald's, and shortly after that another reaper's as well. The portal nearly collapsed, but together, the three of them managed to hold it. William gritted his teeth in irritation over the irresponsible way the Undertaker just took off like that.

"Honestly, the man could have given warning and assigned some of us to do this before rushing off and breaking his concentration!"

His disappointment was short-lived though, because moments later the mortician returned with Grell and the others. One of them was injured and being helped along by his friend. When William saw the dampness spreading over the Undertaker's robes, he realized that he too was injured and his annoyance faded a bit.

"Sir, you and Mr. Blanc should sit down while we finish this," suggested William. "We've only got one more crate to transfer."

"Why should I need to sit down?" Puzzled the ancient...and then his adrenaline waned and he felt the pain of the slug trapped between muscle and bone again. He pressed a hand against the injury and looked down when he felt the dampness. His blood looked shockingly red against his pale skin, and he grimaced. "Oh. Right. I'll do that, but I ought to at least help keep the portal stable."

"So long as you don't strain yourself overly, sir," agreed William. Seeing how Ronald was ready to collapse, he waited for Undertaker's energy to join theirs before nodding at the blond. "You go through with Mr. Blanc first, Ronald. The rest of us will follow. Excellent work."

As soon as Ronald felt Undertaker's energy join in holding open the portal again, he let go and fell to his hands and knees, breathing hard as if he'd run a marathon.

"Normally-I'd object...I'm one of the best shots here, but..." He slowly pushed himself back to his feet and walked over to the injured reaper, "I know when to listen to my boyfriend. I'm exhausted and it'd affect not only my shot, but also the team if we have to leave fast. Will," he looked over his shoulder at William as he loaded a few more of the larger guns with straps over his shoulders, "Don't get shot."

He took over helping Blanc, and slowly they walked to the portal, stepping through when it was clear of the men still hurrying guns through to the other side.

Grell looked over at his lover as he started joining in the gun line once more, "Why didn't you tell me you were hit?" he scowled, "If it's bad you had better march on over to the other side and get it taken care of! I _won't_ loose you, too!"

"I'll be along," assured the Undertaker with a half-grimace, half-grin. "They need me here t' hold the portal steady, m'dear. I'll be the last to go through, so this lot better hurry it up."

William began ushering reapers through quickly upon hearing that bit of logic. He too feared for the ancient...and not simply because he spent the better part of his career idolizing him. They needed the Undertaker and his rather grotesque army if they were to have a chance to reclaim Dispatch without severe losses. As soon as Ronald and Blanc were through the portal, William shouted orders for everyone to make haste. He joined Grell as the others filed through, keeping his gun scythe at ready.

"I shall remain behind with the two of you until the Undertaker can go through."

The mortician glanced up at him, then at Grell. He frowned a bit, but then he sighed and shrugged. "Suit yourselves. If any more shenanigans happen though, I want Grell through that portal straight away."

"Why? I can handle myself just as well as Willy can!" Grell pouted. It was clear that the raid had put him in a much better mood. He didn't want it to end so soon, even if his own lover had gotten shot. Undertaker was a big boy. He could handle one small bullet-hole. He'd be more worried if it had been much more, though.

Grell wasn't one to baby his lover. He had no interest in being with someone who would only become a damsel in distress time after time. His types were men who could hold their own-and Undertaker lacked none of that.

Not to say that Undertaker's skills and strength was the only reason he was with the man. His feelings weren't that shallow. The man's strength was only one small layer to everything that had trapped the redhead's heart.

"I've no doubt about that," reassured the mortician, "but allow a stingy old bloke a play at chivalry, m'dear. Making sure you make it back safely is important to me."

William nodded in understanding, even though he knew how savage Grell was in a fight. "You've always wanted to be treated as a lady, Sutcliff. Now you have your wish."

Undertaker grinned and nodded toward the portal. "That's right, so if it starts going to pot, ladies first."

"Ooo, damn your loop holes!" Grell huffed, but the blush upon his cheeks was a tell-tale sign that he wasn't upset as he hoped to sound. "Fine, _if_ something happens, I'll go through first. But only because I love you! And you owe me for this, Unnie!"

The mortician laughed with delight, quickly righting his top-hat when it started to fall forward over his eyes. "Anything y' like, darlin'. Let's just see to it this gets done without a hitch."

William politely turned away from the couple, keeping a sharp eye out for additional opposition as they waited for the last of their group to go through the portal. He sensed other portals activating outside the warehouse and he tensed, ready for more fighting. "Please stay alert," he advised. "We have but moments before more of them arrive."

Undertaker nodded. "Moments is all we need, chap." He gestured at the portal as the last of their group filed through, and he looked at Grell. "Ladies first, as we agreed. Not to worry though; Willy and I will be right behind you."

"You had better! I won't loose either of you!" Grell said before grabbing the two guns nearest him, and hopping through the portal so that he wasn't going back empty-handed. What he hadn't expected was to trip over a large pile of guns and boxes of ammo as soon as he was safely on the other side, though he knew he should have suspected there to be a mess with the way they had gone about getting their plunder to their hide-out.

* * *

-To be continued


	19. Chapter 19

William and the Undertaker soon joined Grell and the others, and the mortician quickly sealed and banished the portal behind him. He grinned at the sight of Grell half-sprawled over the hastily stacked crates of weaponry and he offered a pale hand to him, whilst pressing the other one against his bleeding bullet wound.

"See? I promised we'd be right behind us, and here we are," quipped the mortician. "Let me give you a hand up, love."

"You need to get that looked at. Small though it is, it is still a scythe wound!" Grell said, letting him help him up. "It won't just heal in the course of a few hours."

He tossed the gun that he'd slipped into his pocket in the pile so it could be investigated for any tracking bugs along with the rest, and then he took Undertaker's arm, "So you are coming with me to our mini-infirmary!"

Undertaker grimaced as the act of helping Grell back to his feet made his wound burn worse. "I've got no argument against that. William, I'll leave you to it while I go and get this looked at."

William nodded in agreement. "Of course, sir. I can handle the rest from here."

Knowing that someone as organized as Spears could certainly handle taking inventory of their plunder and overseeing the storage of it, Undertaker left with Grell to have his injury seen to.

* * *

As Grell helped Undertaker into the room that had been set up as an infirmary, he heard a voice. "Please tell me nothing happened after I left."

Sitting in a chair looking exhausted, Ronald eyed how Undertaker was pressing a hand to his side. He'd heard something about Undertaker being hit, but he hadn't been paying attention as he was slowly helping the other injured reaper to safety.

"Will didn't get hurt, did he?"

Grell waved him off, "All that happened is that we hurried out of there after a few more loads of guns. Your handsome boy-toy is perfectly safe and is overseeing inventory," Grell said as he helped Undertaker take a seat on one of the beds that had been set up in the room. "Hey! My Unnie has a bullet in his side! One of you come dig it out before I give it a try!" He called to the two medical reapers they had in their group, both seeing to the first reaper that had been brought in.

Ronald sighed and leaned back, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes. "Good..." He rested a moment longer before pushing himself up. "I'll be needing a coffee, then."

Grell frowned. It was too late for coffee. "Why? It'll keep you up all night and you need your rest, Ronnie."

"Will promised me something." Ronald smirked and winked at the redhead. "I wouldn't want to fall asleep on him during it. Talk about rude!"

"O-oh." Grell giggled knowingly, "Then by all means, get yourself a nice hot cup and remember to use protection!"

"Trust me. Protection is the last thing I'll be forgetting." Ron nodded as he left to make his way to the kitchen.

* * *

William's feet were dragging with fatigue when he finished overseeing the storage and inspection of their cache. Lawrence returned with his team—minus one reaper—just as they finished with their task. William approached him, mentally counting the numbers of agents. "You lost one?"

Anderson nodded, his expression weary. There was blood on his hands, but it didn't appear to be his own. "They were expecting us, as I feared. Undertaker's scouting wasn't to blame, though. They were waiting off-site and they teleported in the moment the guards saw us coming." He looked behind him at the battle-worn group coming out of his portal, some supporting others. "We did all we could for agent Peterson, but we lost him and then we had no choice but to retreat. I am afraid our mission was a failure. Some of us managed to procure weapons from vanquished enemies, but we could not retrieve any of the crates. There were simply too many of them. I managed to gather his records before we had to retreat, so that Dispatch could not use them to divulge our location."

William nodded in understanding. "It was a necessary risk, sir. We shall give funeral rites for agent Peterson in the morning, even if we don't have his body to lay to rest. Try not to dwell on it right now and focus on getting your injured medical attention. Perhaps you should have a shower, as well." He glanced at the older man's bloodied hands meaningfully.

"Yes...a shower. I shall take that suggestion as soon as my people have been seen to. Was your mission more fortunate than mine?"

"It was." William nodded toward the storage building. "We retrieved all of the crates, and I shall send for Jeffries to begin debugging the weaponry immediately."

"Well done." Lawrence managed a brief, tired smile. "At least _one_ of us was successful."

"I believe we can thank the Undertaker for that," sighed William. "He was injured in the fight along with a few others, but we suffered no losses. He went with Grell to get medical treatment."

Lawrence started to pull out his pipe, looked at his soiled hands and thought better of it. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

"The shot did not hit any vital organs," assured William. "I'm confident that he will recover quickly."

"Thank heavens for that," answered Lawrence with feeling. "We certainly can't afford to lose him. Well, if you will excuse me, lad, I'd best see to my team and get cleaned up. We can submit full reports after we've freshened up and had a bite to eat."

William nodded elegantly. "Indeed, sir."

He watched him go and then he dialed Jeffries' number to set him on his task. Once that was finished, William headed into the retreat to find and check on Ronald. He asked around and got directed to the kitchen, where he found his lover sitting at the expansive island bar, sipping a mug of hot beverage. Detecting the aroma of coffee, William sighed with appreciation and went to pour himself a cup of the freshly brewed drink. He joined Ronald at the island and his eyes roved covertly over the young man, quietly checking for any injuries.

"Father Anderson's mission was not a success," he announced before taking a sip of his drink. "Unfortunately, they lost one agent in the fight that occurred, but the rest of them made it safely back. The losses could have been greater."

Ronald glanced up at William, still looking exhausted. "That...royally sucks..." he muttered quietly, looking back down into his coffee. "Like... really, extremely sucks." He didn't know how else to respond to the news. It was a tragedy that they lost a member of their group. They were already short in numbers. In a way, they were understaffed more than the London Dispatch had been before it was overthrown. They were starting to become a close group, even with language barriers from their diversity in nationalities.

But then again, he wasn't so young as to be ignorant of the risks of their decision to start fighting back and try to take back the Dispatch offices around the world. The deeper into it they got, the more likely they'd lose people.

Ronald reached over and gave Will's hand a squeeze, hoping that he wouldn't have to deal with losing his lover-or his lover loosing him.

"Who was it we lost?" he asked.

"Agent Peterson, from the Manchester division. Father Anderson had the foresight to collect his records before retreating, but they were unable to bring his body back. Funeral rites will be held for him in the morning and hopefully, none of our injured are in serious enough condition to join him in the afterlife overnight."

William sighed and looked into his cup of coffee, as if seeking answers he didn't have. "I know it is of little comfort, but the raid was not a complete failure...and as I said, we could have sustained more than one loss of life. The Undertaker's scouting could not reveal to him that there were enemy agents waiting off site at the facility that Anderson's team struck. I am sure they approached as cautiously as they could have, but there was no way to predict that. Always expect an ambush, I suppose."

Ronald nodded solemnly. "Kinda kills the mood, though. We were successful, but we lost a guy at the other location. It's a high price we paid..." he sighed, shifting on his stool. "I feel stupid. We didn't lose any of our team, so I assumed they hadn't either."

"We were simply more fortunate." William sipped his drink again before going on. "It could have happened to us as well. Perhaps Dispatch didn't have the foresight to consider we would hit the building we raided, or they could be spread too thin to employ the manpower to heavily guard every facility. If the latter is the case, we may be in luck. The council's plan to strike when Dispatch is most vulnerable and win our division back may come to fruition sooner than we thought."

"London..." Ronald leaned over, resting his head on William's shoulder. "Ya'know, it's kinda nerve-wracking to think about making our attack on our own division. I mean, we know those people! And yeah, some betrayed us, but others are just stuck there and we have no idea who is the real enemy. I went to school with some of those guys...we partied together, worked together, flirted with each other...and now we'll be pointing guns at each other's heads."

"Maybe they just need inspiration," William tried to comfort. "If so many feel trapped, perhaps they will find the courage to resist as we grow in strength and numbers. If we can manage to take back the London division, word will spread regardless of how the media attempts to spin it. If we could determine a way to send out a broadcast without being traced, that could be useful to our cause."

"Or!" Ronald snapped up, alert as he got the idea, "Maybe Salty can find a way to hack into their broadcasting database and slip our message into theirs, and if they trace it back they'll trace it to themselves!"

William smiled slightly at that, looking at Ronald with quiet admiration and approval. "I believe that's one of the best ideas I have heard from you yet, Ronald. I shall present it to Mr. Jeffries tomorrow, after the funeral rites. I very much doubt he would have the time to begin working on it tonight, with all of the debugging he already must do."

"He does a lot for us." Ronald nodded, "I pick on him but man, the things he can do with a computer and things like that... It'd be nice if we had some more nerds like him on the team to help lighten his load. He deals with all of the techy shit that the rest of us would spend forever trying to figure out."

"Agreed," said William with a nod. "Social issues aside, Jeffries had been a valuable asset to our cause. If only he would do away with that blasted salt he carries around with him like a talisman. Superstitious nonsense." He shook his head, perplexed by it all. He'd never met a more superstitious reaper before in his life. Usually such a thing was reserved for mortals.

"Yeah, I don't like that salt." Ron sighed, "A waste of sodium if you ask me." He straightened up and tipped back his mug to finish off the last of his coffee. William did the same, and he glanced at Ronald a bit uncertainly. They'd made plans for the night, but he wasn't sure the mood was right for it. Perhaps a shower together might set it right.

"Shall we retire to our room for a while and get cleaned up?" suggested William after a moment's thought. "I'm not entirely comfortable in this attire, and a shower might do us both some good and refresh us."

Ronald nodded and took their mugs to the sink, rinsing them and setting them aside to be cleaned with the breakfast dishes in the morning, "Maybe it'll help wake me up more. That portal was a massive energy-drainer. Kinda put into perspective for me how powerful Undertaker is."

William had to agree with that. He'd helped maintain it as well when the portal began to lose stability, and the drain was substantial, even with the aid of two other reapers. How Undertaker managed to hold it open on his own for so long _and_ fight the enemy, he would never know. It was like trying to hold up a heavy weight. It had surprised him, and Ronald managed to keep it open on his own for several minutes. No wonder he was so fatigued. "Well, I would say you've earned a hot shower and some relaxation," he finally sighed. "As have I."

"Acceptable, but only if we can do both together. Shower to get at least a decent eye-full, and then after that, we curl up in bed together for relaxing." he said, walking over and taking Will's hand. "I may crash fast when it comes to the relaxing bit, though. Coffee didn't help much."

Feeling vaguely disappointed but empathizing entirely, William nodded. Sunrise was just a few hours away after all, and they had a funeral to attend in the morning. They could make good on their lovemaking plans afterwards, and sleep did sound wonderful. "Of course. Tomorrow is another day."

* * *

As soon as they got word that both teams were back from their missions, Eric and Alan went to bed. It wasn't long after that the Scotsman started to dream...and his dreams were not pleasant. Eric tossed and turned in the bed, struggling through terrible nightmares...nightmares about Alan, the Thorns and what had happened to Grell. For now, the Thorns were dormant, but what if they awoke and took both his lover and his unborn child away from him? He groaned and thrashed, calling Alan's name.

Alan groaned, fighting to stay asleep and in his own pleasant dreams where he and Eric had a beautiful child running around as they played in a muddy garden. The perfect family in peaceful times far from the reality of their awakened world. But Eric's cries of his name broke through, blurring and disrupting the images of his dream until it faded away completely and he opened his eyes to their darkened bedroom.

Alan rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up as he looked over at his lover. "Eric..?" He yawned and reached over to place his hand on the man's scruffy cheek, his thumb rubbing gently against the prick of whiskers that had grown; awaiting to be shaved off.

"Eric, wake up." he soothed, not wanting to jolt Eric awake. He'd done so before when Eric had had nightmares in his sleep shortly after joining them and healing from the injury he'd sustained in his escape from Dispatch. The man had struck out, nearly punching Alan in the cheek when Alan had tried shaking him awake. He'd been lucky enough to avoid it, but he didn't want to risk it again, even if Eric didn't mean it as he was unconscious.

The gentle call and touch eased Eric out of his slumber and his torment, and he gasped, eyes flying open as reality came back to him. He blinked in the darkness and he recognized his partner's shadowed form. Grateful that it had only been a nightmare, he pulled Alan close. The swell of the smaller reaper's belly interfered somewhat with the embrace, but not enough to deter the Scotsman.

"Alan," he murmured into his hair, trembling in the aftermath of his dreams. "I...I'm sorry I woke ya up. I was dreamin' an'...ah, ne'er mind. It's no' important. Yer here."

He was half delirious, and he wasn't even fully aware of what he was saying. He just needed the contact...needed to reassure himself that Alan was alive and well in his arms.

Alan frowned and slipped his arms around Eric to comfort him. He pressed a light kiss to his cheek and closed his eyes, "It's fine," he soothed, "It's okay, my love. It was just a bad dream...you can tell me about it if it'll make you feel better and help you relax again?"

Eric nearly spilled the beans, but he thought better of it. Alan didn't need to know he had a nightmare of him miscarrying and dying. That was the sort of thing he didn't even want his partner thinking of, if he could help it. He shook his head and forced a smile, kissing his partner's temple. "It was jus' a nightmare. I'm fine now, sweetheart." He placed his hand over the mound of Alan's belly under the sheets, rubbing it in slow circles through the PJ's he wore. "How do ya feel? Any aches? Can I get ya somethin' tae drink or snack on?"

"My back always aches." Alan pointed out with a small smile, "And now that you mention it... I could go for some ice cream with olives and whipped cream on top!" He added as if his order was the most normal thing in the world.

"Ice cream wi'..." Eric's brows shot up, and he shook his head and smiled. "I'm no' even going tae ask. If that's wha' yeh want, then I'll fetch it for ya." He kissed him lingeringly. "An' after ye've finished tha', I'll give yeh a back massage."

Eric got out of the bed and he stretched and yawned, before retrieving his robe to cover his nudity. Unlike his partner, he rarely slept in anything except his own skin. He gave Alan a wink as he dragged his bangs out of his eyes and put his glasses on. "Be back in a few minutes, Al."

"I'll be waiting." Alan smiled, not hiding the fact that he had enjoyed the view before Eric's robe was wrapped around his toned body. In fact, had it been easier to move, he would have crawled over to reach out and caress Eric's thigh.

Eric left their suite to go to the kitchen, and he plundered the fridge and freezer for the requested items. Unfortunately there was no whipped cream, but he did find a jar of olives to top the vanilla icecream with. He made a face as he sprinkled the olives on top, again shaking his head. Maybe it was a good thing he and Alan weren't married yet, as the bond between them would be giving him strange food cravings too and he thought if he ate something like this he might just throw up.

"Eh, I eat haggis," he reasoned with himself. "Plenty o' people think tha's gross."

He procured a spoon from the silverware stores and he made his way back up the stairs and down the hall to their suite again. When he entered the room, he found the bedside lamp turned on and Alan was propped up against some pillows, reading a book. He smiled at him and brought the disgusting snack to him. "Sorry lover, there wasnae any whipped cream. I'll see wha' I can do about getting some for ya tomorrow."

"At least you tried." Alan smiled, kissing Eric before taking his snack in hand.  
He set the book aside and dug into his treat, happily munching away on the odd combination.

"I love you." He said randomly between bites as Eric settled back into the bed with him.

The Scotsman removed his robe again and draped it over the chair in the corner before getting into bed and under the covers. He smiled at Alan and he took his glasses off again, setting them back on the bedside table. "And I you, sweetheart."

He watched Alan enjoy his snack, unable to stop smiling even as he wondered how in Hades that could possibly taste good. "I always thought people exaggerated pregnancy cravings," he yawned. "But after seein' some o' tha things yeh and Grell have eaten, I've changed mah mind about tha'."

"Mmm, but it tastes good." Alan insisted, "Sweet with a hint of salty." he wiggled his shoulders and torso with a smile as he took another spoonful into his mouth. "Baby likes it, too based on his or her happy little movements right now." he nodded at his belly.

Eric scooted closer and he laid his head on Alan's belly, smiling as he felt and listened to the activity. "Wull if tha bairn likes it an' it's no' making ya sick, I guess it's a'right." He closed his eyes and he thought of what their child might look like when it came out. "Cannae wait tae meet tha wee thing."

"He or she will have the best of both of us." Alan was convinced, "And they'll be the most beautiful little one in the world!"

The brunet sighed happily, sliding his hand over his belly until his fingers touched Eric's, "Undertaker keeps asking me if I want to know if they are a boy or a girl... I just don't know if I want it to be a surprise or not. And if not, I'd definitely want you to be there with me."

Eric couldn't always be at Alan's check-ups. He had responsibilities to attend to and sometimes his free time didn't match up with Undertaker's free time when Alan went to make sure the baby was doing okay, still. Alan knew Undertaker already knew what the baby was, and right now it was bothering him that he didn't know if they had a daughter or a son on the way. It made his squirm a bit in his place next to Eric. "Do you want to know?" he asked, looking up into the Scotsman's eyes.

Eric thought about it for a moment, his gaze drifting between Alan's face and his rounded belly. Finally, he nodded. "Aye, it'd be nice tae know ahead of time, if only fer tha sake o' finalizing tha name. Tha's yer decision though. If ye'd rather it be a surprise, then we'll wait 'till it's born tae find out."

"For once, I can't make up my mind, though!" Alan sighed. He wasn't used to being so conflicted with a decision. "This shouldn't be so hard, but it is. I could really use your help on choosing."

Eric smiled at him. "Yer sae cute when ya fret Al, but I dinnae want it tae keep ya up worrying about it. How's this: Next checkup, I'll make it a point tae go wi' yeh, and we can decide then. It'll give us both some time tae think about it."

"According to you, I'm cute no matter what I do. Even when I'm angry you tell me I'm cute," Alan pointed out. "My next check-up with Undertaker is on Friday after lunch, so we'll have a few days to think on it." He finished shoveling his serving of ice cream into his mouth and set the bowl aside before leaning against Eric, his arms sliding around his waist.

"I'm so happy that you are here with me for this," he muttered after a moment. "I didn't want to have the baby alone. I didn't want to have the baby on my hip when we finally saw each other again and having to tell you it's yours...having the baby not know his or her daddy until then..." He paused and smiled. "Thank you for being the man I hoped you were."

Eric's face went through an interesting series of expressions as he tried to sort out his feelings. He'd given Alan few reasons to believe he would rise to the occasion, so he really couldn't blame him for any doubts he'd harbored. If he'd known about the baby sooner, he knew in his heart he would have defected right away and found another avenue. He parted his lips to say that he hoped the Undertaker could use the pilfered research to save Alan from the Thorns, but he knew that his partner didn't care to even speak of it. Instead of bringing the subject up, he smiled at him and he cupped his chin to plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

"An' thank _you_ fer no' losing hope, even when I was being an arse," Eric murmured against his partner's lips.

"You weren't... you are just a very stubborn man once you have your mind set on something. I have known that ever since that first mission we went on together when I became your junior. I only asked you all those times to come run away with me out of hope that you wouldn't be stubborn this time. Which of course you weren't. But, it's not like I spent the night with you in that motel not knowing who I was with. It's my fault for falling in love with you."

The brunet pressed his lips firmer to Eric's, "Just as you knew I'm the type of man who would keep asking you to come with me."

Eric melted into the kiss, powerless as usual against Alan's affections. "I'd ne'er abandon ya," he murmured against those tempting lips. He kissed him again more deeply, until they were both a bit breathless. "And I've ne'er wanted another, after tha' night."

"Mm," Alan lingered against Eric's lips, "Good, I wouldn't want to have to see what I'm like when I'm jealous." Then, feeling playful, he rolled over so that he was straddling his fiancé, his fingers lightly trailing over the man's chest. "I like that you are mine, that my baby is yours."

"Always yers," agreed Eric. He reached up to run his hands over Alan's sides and hips, smiling up at him. "An' there was ne'er really a question in mah mind tha' this baby's mine...sorry I acted like such a dimwit when ya told me about it."

"I was just happy you didn't say you didn't want anything to do with our baby. I don't think I could have handled that..." Alan trailed off, a distant look in his eye as he remembered back to all those lonely nights he spent crying. He'd shed tears for the loneliness he felt, for his uncertain future... He truly didn't know if Eric would survive or return to his side. And if he did, if he'd want the child. If Eric hadn't wanted the child... well, what would've happen to the baby once the Thorns finally took Alan's life?

He'd been so uncertain of everything in his life, lost, scared... But he'd put on a strong front when he wasn't alone.

Thinking back to those lonely nights brought back remnants of those emotions and despite the fact that Eric was there with him, holding him, wanting to keep him and their baby both... he felt old tears fill his eyes again thanks to the mood swings his pregnancy hormones tended to put him through. He leaned forward, letting out a sob as he hugged Eric tight.

At a loss for the sudden fit of angst, Eric stroked Alan's hair and rubbed his back. "Hey, wha's wrong, Alan? I'm here now an' I'm no' going away. It's a'right, sweetheart."

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start...I just started remembering back and..." Alan hid his face in his lover's shoulder, "You're here now... you're here and that's all that matters..." he tried to calm himself.

Old guilt resurfaced to assail Eric, and he sighed. He hadn't intended to stay with Dispatch longer than necessary to get what he needed from them, but he'd still abandoned his partner. Worse than that, he'd gotten him pregnant and abandoned him, all good intentions aside.

"I'm sorry tae have put you through that, sweetheart," he murmured, nuzzling the smaller man's soft brown hair. Telling him that he would have defected sooner if he'd known he was expecting was useless now. All he could do was try to make him feel secure that he was there to stay now, and it still wouldn't erase the heartache and pain of the past few months.

Alan wanted to stop crying, he wanted to smile and laugh and snuggle up to Eric as they drifted back off to sleep at such a late hour... but his emotions kept the tears firmly in his eyes.

Maybe he needed this, though. To let it all out. He'd cried before, yes, but in private. Alone. Just he and his unborn child. And When Eric had finally returned to his side, the man had been injured and so he'd held back on their serious talks. And then after that more things kept happening. Grell loosing the baby, Eric proposing at such a time as he had, and working within their rebel group kept them busy... He'd never had the chance to truly get his doubts and pain off his chest. Maybe once the tears dried, he'd finally be free to move on from it.

He sobbed into his lover, the moments slowly ticking by as he felt Eric rub small circles into his back. And finally he was able to calm down, the tears having run their course.

He pushed himself up and rubbed his red, puffed eyes as he looked down at Eric. He reached out, caressing his cheek, "Eric...come with me into town tomorrow?" he asked in his tear-weakened voice, "I volunteered to go into town for previsions because I also wanted to start getting things for the baby. We'll need bottles and nappies..."

"Wouldnae think of leavin' yeh tae go alone," assured Eric with a brief kiss. He wondered if mortals might take notice of the way Alan's stomach had rounded and suspect anything. It would probably be easier to get what they needed from the reaper side, seeing as Shinigami would understand Alan's condition, but that was too risky. They couldn't take the chance that anyone on the other side might recognize them from any broadcasts Dispatch put out denouncing them  
as fugitives. Hopefully the humans they'd be interacting with would just assume Alan had a little beer gut, as Eric stupidly did when they were first reunited.

Alan managed a smile and slipped down to curl up next to Eric in a comfortable position, "Thank you, Eric."

Eric smiled and he cuddled his lover as best he could without crushing him. "O' course, Al. I wouldnae want yeh having tae lift any heavy supplies on yer own right now, anyway."

He reached over the smaller reaper to dim the bedside lamp again. "I'll try no' tae wake ya up again. We'd best get plenty o' rest for tha morning."

"I would have asked Ronnie or someone to come with me for helping had you not wanted to." Alan yawned, kissing Eric's cheek, "We always go into town in pairs, anyway. Safer that way. The local dispatch is on our side, but that's not to say that there aren't a few corrupted reapers lurking about in the area." he muttered, letting sleep overtake him once more.

* * *

The next morning, Alan awoke later than normal. Likely due to the fact that he and Eric had woken up during the late hours. He wasn't surprised that Eric had let him sleep in. His condition did require him to make sure he got proper sleep, after all. And Eric had always been one to look out for the brunet's health.

He got up and made the bed before getting ready for the day, showering, combing his hair, and getting dressed for the outing into the mortal town.

Once finished, he made his way down to the kitchen where he knew the others would be finishing up Breakfast, and he'd be able to eat his own before grabbing Eric and going.

No one said anything other than the usual morning greetings when Alan walked into the kitchen supporting a simple but elegant light tan dress with white ruffles and a bow at his collar. Upon his head was a hat to help hide the fact that his hair was so short, with a veil of cloth going down the back to hide the bun that wasn't there.

He'd begun to wear the dress once he started showing when he would be going out into mortal public, and the rebels were used to seeing him dressed as such. Though he did get a few questionable stares from a few of the newer members who had come over with Anderson.

"Good morning." he greeted as he walked over to pour himself a glass of orange juice and get himself a plate of eggs and sausage.

Eric paused with his bite of egg halfway to lips, his mouth hanging open as he stared. Unnoticed, his bite of egg slipped off his tilted fork to land with the rest of his half-eaten breakfast on the plate. Having never gone on an outing into town with his partner before, he was ignorant of the reasoning behind it.

"A-Alan?" His voice came out raspy with surprise and he had no idea how he should go about asking him what he was doing in a dress. Had Grell dragged him into his room to play dress-up or something? He'd never seen his partner dress like this before.

"Hmm?" Alan hummed, already chewing on a bite of eggs as he moved to sit down in the empty chair next to Eric.

"Yer in a dress," answered the Scotsman in a loud whisper, as if the others nearby hadn't noticed a thing yet. "What's tha' about?"

Alan blinked dumbly at his lover for a moment. "Of course I am. I'm pregnant," he said with a shrug. "I can't very well walk out into mortal public as a pregnant man. Male humans can't get pregnant. Plus, it's comfortable and offers extra protection from untrustworthy reaper agents who may spot me. I bought this dress when I started to get too big to hide my condition. Haven't you seen it hanging in our wardrobe?"

"Wull aye…saw it a couple o' times but I thought it was jus' some previous guest's leftovers. I had no idea it was yers!" At once, Eric felt rather foolish. Of course it made sense for Alan to disguise himself in public; especially given his situation. In fact, none of them should be going out in public without some kind of disguise –not even in the mortal realm. He sighed and he racked his brain for a solution. He didn't think he stood out as much as, say Grell, but his hairstyle wasn't exactly common in either realm and the dual tone made him even more recognizable.

"Maybe I should put a hat on or somethin'," he reasoned, touching his golden waves uncertainly. Too bad he didn't have an extra pair of standard Shinigami glasses to wear, but seeing as his eyes were more sensitive to light than average, he'd never even considered requesting a pair without tinting.

"Maybe. Ronald has a few, now. Maybe he'll let you use one." Alan suggested. He then looked down at his skirts and flushed, "I don't look bad, do I?" He never cared before, but Eric's opinion was different. "I mean, it seems to be convincing. And the local baker seems to like it... he keeps asking about my husband, too..."

Eric smiled at him. "Ya dun' have tae worry 'bout tha' anymore, at least. Any thoughts he's go' about ya bein' an unwed mother will be laid tae rest, after today. We could say I've been away on business or somethin', if we stop by there an' he asks."

He was going to say he was sorry for putting Alan in such a position to begin with, but they'd already gone over all that and he'd just be repeating himself. Words weren't worth much…actions were. Eric spotted Ronald coming in with a plate of food and he decided to address the disguise issue. "Hey Ronnie, Alan says ye've go' a collection of hats. Mind lending one tae me while we're out getting' supplies? It may no' be likely we'll be spotted by any reapers from Dispatch while we're out, but I'd rather play it safe an' not be too easily recognized."

Ronald paused, his cheeks full of eggs, "You want something that matches your girlfriend's dress?" he gave a cocky smirk, "Sure. I have a total of five you could choose from." he added as he dropped himself into the seat on the other side of Alan.

"I take it this means I can stay here this time?" Ron asked Alan who nodded.

"You are still free to join us if you want." Alan added.

"Meh," Ronald shrugged stabbing a link of sausage with his fork, "Why would you need your 'cousin' when you have your husband there to carry all your bags? Besides, I want to get to work on helping to sort out all the new guns as they are debugged."

"Thanks, Ronnie." Eric finished his last bite and drank down his juice. "We'll go through tha hats after ya finish eating, before Alan and I leave."

He went to into the kitchen area to wash his dishes and put them in the rack to dry, and he paused to take in the sight of his betrothed again on his way back in to sit with him. He smiled and leaned against the doorway for a moment, just watching him. William gave him an odd look in passing as he came in to select his own breakfast, and Eric cleared his throat and approached Alan. He gave the smaller man's shoulders a squeeze before leaning over to whisper into his ear.

"Ya look cute in tha', by th' way. It's definitely yer color, Al."

Alan's cheeks heated. "I didn't know you were a man who would like such a thing as this..." he muttered so that only his lover could hear him. He finished eating and stood up to take his dishes to the sink.

He paused to kiss Eric's ear. "If you like it that much, maybe I'll keep the dress after the baby's born," he whispered. Of course, he'd have to have it altered so that it fit his flat belly.

Eric chuckled, though the thought of fooling around a bit with Alan in a dress did have a certain appeal he couldn't deny. It surprised him, really. He never would have pictured himself as the sort that would get into that sort of thing, though his past exploits didn't really distinguish between men and women. Before Alan, he romanced both genders and he'd had his share of both. He leaned in again to plant a little kiss on his partner's cheek.

"I might have tae hold ya to tha', sweetheart."

With a little wink, he pulled away and excused himself to go to the bathroom.

"I think somebody liked what he saw this morning." Ronald smirked from the table.

Alan flushed and hurried to clean his breakfast dishes and make sure he had everything ready for their trip into town.

It was strange. He hadn't ever thought on it, but...he liked that Eric had liked seeing him in a dress. Not that he'd take a page out of Grell's book and wear them whenever he could get away with it...but, every once in a while in the privacy of their bedroom...maybe...

* * *

Eric came out of the bathroom with a slightly flushed face, doing his best not to reveal what he'd been up to. Not an easily flustered reaper, he was frankly bewildered by how affected he'd been by the sight of Alan in a dress. They hadn't done more than cuddle and kiss since their last romantic interlude that resulted in him re-opening his bullet wound, because Alan was getting heavy with child and both of them were wary of doing anything that might harm the baby. Eric hurting himself trying to get it on certainly didn't help either of them feel confident, either. Needs were needs though, and rather than dragging his expecting partner to their room to ravish him, Eric chose to relieve his problem himself.

"Mornin'," he mumbled to a couple of reapers in passing, hoping his blush wasn't terribly obvious. He spotted Ronald coming out of the kitchen and he hurried over to him, anxious to get the day's tasks over with. "Ronnie, let's have a look a' those hats. Alan an' I should be goin' soon."

"Yeah, sure. Just be quiet," cautioned Ronald. "Will's gone back to bed so he can sleep in for once. I think he was more worn out than he thought, last night. I crashed super quick...I think he stayed up a bit longer, reading or something because he didn't want to get up when the alarm went off for the funeral. I figure he could use the extra rest." Ronald guided Eric towards his and William's shared room and opened the door quietly. His handsome lover still asleep in their bed.

Eric kept his voice down and walked softly as Ronald showed him the selection of hats. Eventually he chose the derby and he quietly thanked the younger reaper, before putting the hat on and going back downstairs to find Alan. A smile graced his lips when he spotted his partner on his way outside, and he snuck up behind him and embraced him from behind.

"Mmm, ready tae go?" Eric nuzzled the smaller reaper's hair, partially concealed beneath the bonnet. "Pretty little wife."

Alan flushed, slipping their shopping list into the cloth purse hanging with his skirts along with the money they'd need. "Yes, I'm ready to go if you are." He nodded, slipping out of Eric's embrace and linking his arm through Eric's, then he paused. "Uh... I sort of use the name of Alana when I go out... Never gave a last name."

Eric nodded, finding his partner's response adorable. "'Alana it is, then."

He formed the portal and he ushered Alan inside before following himself.

* * *

The mortal Greek city was overflowing with activity. The streets lit with warm, golden sunlight. Alan took a moment to lean against a wall and regain his balance. Then he adjusted his skirts once he was safely in control of himself again. He took out their list of things they needed to get for the rebels, wanting to get the necessities out of the way before he dipped into his and Eric's own funds for baby things. He didn't wish to risk forgetting to pick up provisions. The Grecian dispatch helped them when they could, but they liked to not have to rely on them too much.

He handed Eric the basket he'd brought to help carry items, and unfolded the list, "We should head to the farmer's market first, then hit the bakery and butchers before moving down town for things like medical supplies and baby items."

"I'm following yer lead," agreed Eric after having a look around. He'd never been in Athens before, on either side. The city had a certain romantic charm to it and he couldn't resist taking Alan's hand in his as they began to walk through it. The Farmer's Market was a sprawling affair in the city square, and Eric was a bit thrown off by how busy it was. He crowded closer to his partner as they perused the goods and filled their basket, worried about Alan getting jostled by all the mortals going about their business. After filling the basket full of fresh produce, they hired a carriage and went on to the bakery. Eric smiled at the way the man running the shop greeted Alan with paternal fondness.

"Ah, Miss Alana," said the portly man in a thickly accented voice. "How nice to see you this day! How is your little one?"

His green-blue eyes regarded Eric curiously from behind round, wire-framed spectacles and the Scotsman could see the question in his eyes. To spare Alan the awkwardness of explaining, Eric spoke up for him. "How d'ya do? I'm Alana's husband, Eric. Been away on business overseas fer awhile." He shook the baker's hand in greeting. "She's said nice things 'bout ya."

The baker glanced between Eric and Alan. "Has she? Well, she is a very sweet young lady. It is good to see her husband at her side again. No expecting mother should be alone for long."

Eric winced inwardly, detecting the chastising note in the human's voice. "No, they shouldn't. Dinnae worry though; I'm not goin' anywhere soon." He smiled and placed a hand over Alan's belly. "She won't be greeting our son or daughter alone when tha time comes."

Alan flushed as he distracted himself with choosing between two loafs of dessert bread, though it wasn't on the list. However, the more he looked, the more he wanted one to snack on. It turned out to be effective with distracting him from hearing Eric call himself his husband. They were engaged, but it still had made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

"Eric was called away on important business soon after our marriage." he fibbed, choosing a loaf with cinnamon and raisins in it before moving over to get more practical bread that was actually on their list, "He didn't want to go, but he wrote me whenever he could. But I was still a little upset, I suppose. I didn't tell him that I was pregnant until he got home."

The Scotsman eyeballed him, a flash of irritation crossing his Gaelic features. "No, she didn't. I'd have made it home a lo' faster if I'd known." He smiled again though, unable to hold it against Alan. He knew why he'd kept it to himself, and it was his own fault Alan didn't feel he could tell him. "But we're together now, an' tha's wha' matters tae me most."

"Well, the young miss likely did not want her condition to alarm you and interfere with your work," excused the baker. "Now, I have some wonderful, freshly baked pita bread available today, if you are interested. Expecting mothers must eat well, after all!"

"You, sir, are tempting me yet again." Alan accused. He was already starting to feel hungry, which made it all too easy to not refuse the idea of snacks. He walked back over to Eric and looked up at him, "You may have to regulate the amount of snacks I leave here with, Love. My self-control is lacking."

Eric grinned and put an arm around him. "I'm no' tha one tae ask that, sweetheart. If my wife wants tae bring every snack in tha shop home wi' her, I'm no' gonna say 'no'. I've go' no willpower when it comes tae you."

"We do have a budget, Eric." Alan reminded, "And we need to start on our baby shopping, still."

"Ah, yer right." Eric sighed and gave Alan a gentle squeeze. He wasn't used to living on such a skimpy budget, but he'd have to learn to be more frugal until things got sorted out with Dispatch—provided they ever did. "A'right, no more than wha' we can fit in one shopping sack, then. I'll jus' have tae spoil ya in other ways when we get home."

Alan's face went red; his mind going dirty places that normally wouldn't have been in his head before he spent such a passionate night with Eric. "Eric! Such things should not be mentioned in public!" he scolded.

"Wha' things?" The twinkle in Eric's eyes gave it away that he knew exactly what things Alan was talking about, though. "Can't a man offer tae rub his wife's feet or give her a massage? I dun' think it's a taboo subject."

The baker chuckled at the couple, but he took pity on Alan and didn't offer his opinion.

"I-I..." Alan's cheeks darkened even more. "Oh-you!" He hid his face in Eric's shoulder. He'd walked right into that one.

Eric laughed and he patted Alan's bonnet, knowing his lover's thoughts. "Aye, ya did. Well, let's pick ou' wha' we're gonna get so we can make it tae the butcher's an' tha baby shop before it starts getting dark, love. We've still go' a lot of shopping tae do."

And he didn't particularly want to be stumbling around an unfamiliar city at night when Dispatch activity was more likely to occur. Crime rates tended to go up more after dark, which meant a higher mortality count and thus more reapings. So far the Athens branch hadn't been compromised yet, but given how stealthily the enemy had taken over the others before they even knew they'd been invaded, he didn't want to risk running into any reapers he didn't know.

Alan nodded and turned back to a basket of dinner rolls, "Baby shopping is what I'm excited for." he smiled.

* * *

After finishing up at the bakery and the butcher shop, the couple went to the local maternity and baby supply shop and Eric waited while Alan tried a few things on. Unfortunately, all of the clothes were designed for women but he supposed he couldn't expect Alan to wear the same dress each time they went out in the mortal realm for something, and their benefactors at the Athens branch donated clothes to them each month. He was sure they could find something more suitable for Alan to wear when he wasn't out in public. The Scotsman kept a vigilant eye out for any signs of reaper activity in the area while his partner selected a small assortment of clothes for himself and for the baby when it was born. Eric himself picked out a few things as well, such as teething rings, a rattle and a stuffed bear. They agreed on a rocking cradle to bring back with them as well, and Eric went to load it into the carriage they'd rented. He almost froze when he saw a man watching him from across the street—a man with glasses. He sensed the reaper aura clinging to him, and he didn't recognize him. He kept his expression carefully neutral as he finished loading the cradle, and he told the driver they wouldn't be much longer.

Adjusting his borrowed hat on his head covertly, Eric went back into the shop where Alan was just pulling out his purse to pay for the cloth diapers and the other things they'd picked out. He approached the smaller man and he spoke softly into his ear from behind.

"I'll load the rest o' this up while ya finish paying, lover. Soon as yer finished, get straight in tha carriage. Dun' stay ou' in tha open fer too long, a'right?"

Alan nodded, finding it safe to assume that Eric had spotted a questionable reaper in the area. It was better to play it safe than be sorry as they found themselves being captured or worse.

He handed over the money he counted out and collected the last few bags Eric hadn't grabbed yet, and turned to leave, aiming to get in the carriage as quickly as possible without drawing suspicion.

The driver was waiting for him, but Eric was not.

"Eric?" Frowning, Alan set the bags down in the carriage and looked around the busy streets. Not spotting his lover, Alan looked up at their driver, "Excuse me, but did my husband tell you where he went?" he asked, trying not to show the worry starting to well up inside.

The driver turned around to peer through the little window dividing the coachman's seat from the passenger cabin, and he spoke in halting English. "He say to bring you to next block. Has business to do fast, and will join us there."

Alan frowned, clearly confused. But he nodded and sat down in the seat after closing the carriage door. "Alright." he agreed, hoping that Eric wasn't trying to do something stupid again.

* * *

Back in an alleyway, Eric yanked his death scythe free of the reaper he'd just vanquished. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were still blazing with adrenaline. He regarded the agent he'd just dispatched as he grimly collected his records so that Dispatch wouldn't be able to determine who had put an end to him, and then he wiped at the blood on his face. So much for the hope that the man wasn't part of the enemy organization. Eric had managed to sneak up on him just in time to overhear him reporting over his phone that he believed he'd spotted one of the 'treasonous fugitives', and he spoke with a British accent. While there was still a chance he was just one of the many reapers duped into thinking the rebels were the bad guys, Eric just couldn't take that chance. He didn't believe the agent got the chance to tell them his identity before he interrupted the call with a tackle and smashed his phone.

The gun scythe probably would have been faster, but the noise would have no doubt attracted the attention of mortals and the local human law enforcement. Eric banished his death scythe and he prayed he was right about that. He looked around to get his bearings and he took the back streets to the next block, thankful that the reaper he'd just defeated had been cloaked from mortal sight—just as he'd done when he went to inspect him and decide what to do. The mortal Athens authorities would likely find the body soon if Dispatch didn't come and retrieve it, but that was of little concern.

He did his best to tidy himself up before stepping back out onto the next main street and seeking out the coach they'd hired for the day. Spotting it, Eric walked briskly over to it and he kept his senses open and alert for any sign of further Dispatch agents in the area. Thanking the driver, he pulled the door open and climbed in with Alan. As soon as he closed the door again, he embraced his lover grateful that he'd gotten him away before he'd been spotted.

"I'm sorry if I made ya worry," murmured the Scotsman into Alan's ear. "I had tae take care o' somethin'."

"You could have told me you wouldn't be at the carriage when I finished paying." Alan half-pouted, leaning into the embrace. "What were you doing? Are you bleeding?" Spotting blood on Eric's neck, he reached up to wipe it away, finding no cut under it-which meant it wasn't his.

Eric grimaced a little, and he spoke in a low voice so that there would be no chance of the coachman overhearing. "It's no' mine. I'll explain after he drops us off, Al. I'm no' hurt or anything."

Alan's expression clearly showed his disappointment and worry, "You didn't do anything stupid, did you?"

Eric chuckled dryly. "Depends on wha' ya mean by 'stupid'. Protecting mah family comes first now." He kissed Alan's cheek, brushing his stubble against the soft skin. "Trust me sweetheart, I did wha' mah gut instinct told me tae do. I'll explain it when we get home."

"That doesn't mean it wasn't foolish." Alan said, eyeing the man and using a handkerchief to clean the blood from his fingers and Eric's neck. "And I don't like you disappearing on me. I can't help but worry more over that... I don't want to be left alone again, Eric."

Eric winced. All he'd been thinking of was getting Alan safely inside the carriage, out of sight and out of the immediate area when he decided to investigate. It was in his nature to act quickly, particularly when it came to the things that really mattered to him. "I didnae mean tae disappear on ya. I thought I was doin' right by telling tha driver tae let ya know I'd be along soon, but I guess mah logic isn't always stellar. 'M sorry, Alan."

They were getting close to their destination now, and Eric glanced out the window. "I'll tell ya everything when we get home."

"I'm sorry for being so...needy with you right now..." Alan said, bowing his head and taking Eric's hand, "I don't want to be, but I only just got you back and we weren't exactly together long before the takeover of Dispatch drove us to go separate ways. I know you asked me to marry you, but...we haven't really had any real dates, either."

Eric smiled tenderly at him. "After wha' I've put ya through, ye've every right tae feel tha' way. How 'bout after we get tha provisions home an' put away, we have our dinner under tha stars—picnic style? Jus' you an' me up on tha roof balcony? I'd say tha beach but I think it'll be too cold on tha beach...an' tha sand might get in our food, too."

He leaned in to kiss Alan on the cheek. "I could bring up some blankets an' pillows tae make ya more comfortable an' keep us warm. I'd even say we could sleep there under tha sky, except I think tha' might play hell on yer back right now."

"Yes, I'm sure our baby would not be happy if I slept out there...which may only result in my own mood not being the greatest, but..." Alan smiled and leaned against Eric, "The date sounds wonderful, Eric."

Pleased that he'd managed to do _something_ right after stuffing up yet again, the bigger reaper put an arm around his lover and he kissed his temple, just next to the bonnet. He was once the dating king—an expert on romancing his partners straight into his bed. He'd never had as much of a reason to treat someone to a romantic evening as he did now, though...and he'd picked up something extra while they were out too, while Alan was preoccupied at the Butcher's. This would be the perfect opportunity to present it.

"It's been a long time comin', my heart. Ya deserve it, an' sae much more."

* * *

-To be continued


	20. Chapter 20

Eric got more than his fair share of an earful of it after they returned and put away the supplies. He felt he needed to report what had happened and naturally, he went to William out of habit. He'd spent so much time operating under orders from Anderson's imposter that he couldn't help but fall back on the habit of answering to his old boss, even though Lawrence was now the lead officer in their ranks.

"How could you be so glaringly _stupid_?" William accused bluntly the moment Eric finished relaying to him what happened. The uptight brunet stood rigid before the returned couple in the suite he shared with Ronald. "You had no solid proof that the reaper you encountered was indeed part of the conspiracy against us or one of those who were mislead or coerced! You may very well have murdered a reaper innocent of conspiring against our organization...possibly even a potential ally."

William looked as though he might consider reaping the Scotsman right then and there as punishment, and Eric was quick to defend his actions. "I couldnae take tha' chance! He was in tha process o' reporting tae his people tha' he thought he recognized one o' us, an' I've Alan an' our bairn tae think about."

"Still stupid." Ronald spoke up, having overheard the whole thing. He'd been out training—not just with guns, but with hand-to-hand combat—and he had gotten quite sweaty and dirty in the process. He'd returned to the room to change into a fresh shirt and pants and now stood in the room with only his mud-covered pants on. "I mean, come on. My reputation is notorious for acting first and thinking later on things, but on this I have to agree with Will. I probably would have aimed at the phone first, taken that out, and then confronted the dude. With backup—well, maybe not backup if I was with Al...but I would have sent him to go get backup, given that he's all baby-filled and shit." He shrugged. "We go in pairs or groups when we go out of our safe zone for a _reason_."

Alan was quiet, looking down at his lap as he let everything sink in. He was seated in a chair to help ease the weight off his feet after walking around town all morning. "I don't want to scold you again, Eric, but...you didn't tell me much...what would have happened had he bested you? What if he'd captured you...or worse?" He really didn't want to make his lover feel any guiltier, but it was a point he had to make. The brunet looked up at Eric. "I know I'm in a delicate condition right now. I'm responsible for the life of our child just the same as my own... but you need to communicate with me. I'm not going to insist upon joining the fight myself and risk the baby, but I have the right to know what you are up to."

Eric sighed and made a low growl of frustration in his throat. "A'right, I was originally planning tae be there when yeh came ou', but tha bastart was still standing there an' he kept staring at tha shop an' our carriage! I didnae want tha risk of him seeing an' recognizing ya too if he was an enemy, so I told tha driver tae meet me a block away after picking yeh up, so I could find out wha' he was about. I wasnae tryin' tae abandon yeh, an' I din't have much time tae form ano'er plan. Fer fook's sake, animals try tae distract predators from their mates or their kin, so why shouldn't I?"

He dragged his fingers through his hair and he started to pace as well in agitation, nearly bowling over Ronald in the process. "I might have made a mistake an' if mah instincts were fogged by protective feelings, I'm sorry...but if I was right about tha man then—"

"—Then I will issue a formal apology for being overly harsh with you," interrupted William, "but Slingby, you must understand that there are alternatives to shedding blood—particularly when there is no immediate threat of violence from the suspect. Our realm already views us as terrorists as it is. We've all spoken of this. Every unprovoked act of violence we make only adds fuel to that image...but you said that you collected his records, so we can discover the truth of his involvement through examination of them. I will give you credit for that bit of forethought, at least."

Eric shot a dry look at him, then at Ronald and Alan. "Thanks. Nice tae know where I stand on tha scales o' wit in yer eyes."

"It's not like that, Eric!" Alan insisted, standing up and crossing over to him, "I hate making you feel guilty... I know you already feel guilty enough for everything else now that you know I'm carrying your child. I love you and worry for you!"

"I just think you made a hasty decision." Ron shrugged, pulling on a clean shirt and stepping behind a screen to change his pants, "You're still my best friend. But you're new to being in our little 'Dispatch's most wanted' group... Hey, Will, do you know where my clean boxers got to? Got mud down my pants, it seems..."

"I believe...wait, what?" William's intent to add his next comment on the intervention was immediately spoiled by Ronald's abrupt drift from the topic. He looked at the blond in a semi-startled manner, and then he cast a look around upon comprehending the question. Heavens, was Knox ever capable of sticking to subjects _not_ involving his underwear—or lack thereof?

It was a good distraction from an increasingly awkward conversation, though. William could sense by Eric's stance that he was getting too frustrated to listen to further lecture. "You...may find them in the chest of drawers...where we _always_ put undergarments, Ronald."

"Only finding yours." Ron muttered, "Screw it, I'm going without, I guess. Now...pants... Ah-ha!" He pulled his pants on and came back out from behind the screen, tucking in his shirt, "Anyway, Eric, just try to remember that we need to be careful in what we do while on the run. And you know-you aren't the only idiot here." he grinned and pointed at himself, "Guess how stupid I was back when I was getting in contact with Alan behind Will's back. Man, I thought Will was going to murder me."

The former supervisor smirked dryly at Ronald. "That was a most trying evening. I'd rather not speak of it again. As for underwear, Ronald, I believe I may procure a safe to keep yours in and issue it to you as needed. That counts as _three_ pairs you've lost since we arrived at this place. Honestly, do you toss them through a portal just to avoid wearing your undergarments?"

Eric pictured a bunch of underwear magically appearing out of nowhere somewhere else, and he almost smirked. He was too frustrated to feel the full impact of the humor, though. "Wull, tha two of yeh obviously have things tae discuss, and we've go' plans of our own. Alan, I'll be getting things ready on tha balcony, if ya still want our date."

He didn't wait to see if his partner answered him, because he was feeling a little resentful and needed a moment or two alone. He turned and left the suite; avoiding speaking to any other reapers he came across on his way to his and Alan's room.

William watched Alan go and he sighed. Honestly, it was Slingby's own fault he got chastised. Their points were valid ones; not just an excuse to pick on him. He did however see why the Scotsman had acted so impulsively-a thing which he imagined he'd have never empathize with, before Ronald.

* * *

Undertaker was steep into his research when Alan knocked and poked his head into the designated lab room. He looked up at the young man from his desk and he smiled. "Hi hi, chap. Something wrong?"

Humphries bore a troubled, uncertain look on his face.

Alan slipped inside and sat down in an empty chair, "Sir...could I ask your advice on something? Or...maybe not advice, maybe it's more I need to talk to someone...I'm not really sure..."

Ordinarily the mortician would be miffed by the interruption—especially since the whole community knew his research schedule by now and should have the sense not to disturb him during those hours except in emergencies. Certain parties were the exception though; such as Grell and Alan. The former was his lover and he was doing half of his research on behalf of the latter. Besides, he was fond of Alan and it wasn't like he was in the middle of a breakthrough. He nodded and put aside his pen.

"Go right ahead, Alan. I could use a wee break from this anyhow."

Alan took a moment to gather his thoughts, "I sort of feel like I'm driving Eric away from me now that I have him back," he finally started out with, "I feel like I'm always lecturing him over something or the other, or reminding him how I was alone for so long. We have plans for a date tonight, but I think he's upset with me..."

The Undertaker listened to Alan's recount of what happened in the city earlier, and he tapped his chin in thought when he finished. "You know honestly lad, if it'd been me and Grell in your place, I'd have probably done the same thing he did." He shrugged his dark-clad shoulders helplessly. "Oh, don't look so surprised. I'm not trying t' defend his recklessness; I can merely relate. Your Celt might be a brutish, thick-skulled lout, but he's a loyal sort."

The mortician smiled and crossed his legs, propping one elbow on his top knee and resting his chin in his palm. "Truth be told, it's obvious to me that you're his whole world. He might have gone about it all the wrong way but his biggest priority since I met the bloke was _you_...and the biggest fools are often the ones most in love."

He looked down and he huffed, muttering dryly to himself. "Funny how strongly I can sympathize with that now. All it takes is a glance from my lady to make my black heart go pitter-patter and send my ol' head into an even more chaotic frenzy than it's usually in." He sighed and blinked, coming back from his introspection. "My, I just parted ways with the subject, didn't I? Well the point is this: when there's something or someone you find more important than yourself, caution might as well be buggered if you think it's endangered. I doubt he's mad at you, love, but mayhap he's feeling frustrated that you couldn't understand or appreciate _why_ he did what he did. He might have been hoping you'd be grateful or impressed that he was so quick to play your 'knight in shining armor', and as a fellow that's demonstrated my own share of bad judgment, I understand how frustrating it can be when the one you're trying to protect can't see it."

The ancient grinned suddenly. "But I've gone and talked your little ear off, haven't I? Rest assured, you aren't in the wrong for fretting over it. He thought with his bum rather than his brain and he should've shared his plan with you. Just consider going a bit easier on him. Maybe be a li'l more constructive and show him you appreciate how he tries and _then_ share your concerns with him. Bet he'd like that."

Alan sighed, "But I worry about him when he does things like that. I want him safe, too." He ran his hand through his hair, "I hate that we are all in constant danger, and I hate that I'm so restricted in how helpful I am to everyone, and I now rely so much on Eric...I couldn't handle something happening to him because of that."

Undertaker smiled encouragingly at the younger reaper in a way that few ever saw him smile. "Son, nobody would fault you for your limitations. You've got a right legitimate excuse if you ask me, and from what I've heard from your associates, you more than pull your weight in the office. I'm not saying he shouldn't get a talking-to by all means, oh no. Chaps like us need a reminder now and then by those of the less reckless variety that our actions might need a bit of tempering. That sort of thing comes best from the ones we're close to or trust, and I'd say you fit the bill with Mr. Slingby. Just try t' be kind about it, is all. That ruddy great dunce loves you, sure as the moon rises, and for all his stupidities, he did mean well."

The mortician shrugged and grinned. "Like I said: feel free to point out his blunders. He doesn't seem so much a thick-skulled lout around you and he might listen better...but sweeten it up a bit. I almost feel sorry for the chap, with the moral bludgeoning he's been getting at every corner...almost."

"Sweeten it up..?" Alan nodded in thought, wondering how he could make better the scolding Eric had gotten that day from not just Spears, but his best friend and his lover. Maybe that had been too harsh. He could have stayed silent on the issue, but he hadn't.

Sighing, he stood up. "Thank you, sir. I'm sorry for interrupting your work."

The Undertaker waved it off. "It's no trouble, li'l chap. I'm actually flattered you'd come to the likes of me for romantic advice, what with how things went with Grell and I. Folks say I'm the last bloke anyone should listen to on matters of the heart." He chuckled. "Good luck with it all, anyhow."

* * *

Eric sighed as he finished arranging the pallet of pillows and blankets he'd set down for their comfort, and he buttoned up his long coat for the moment. It was going to be a cold night, but he and Alan could share body warmth after eating. He went inside and to the kitchen to scoop up some of the potato and leek soup someone had made for everyone, leaving plenty of helpings behind. He covered the bowls with plates to keep the contents warm and he set them into the basket first, before grabbing a couple of hot rolls and lastly, pouring them both glasses of the freshly brewed spiced cider. He guessed that Father Anderson must have been the chef tonight, as the homemade cider was his signature brew.

That done, he hooked the picnic basket onto his arm, and carried the drinks in his hands as he returned to the roof balcony to wait for his lover. He heaved another sigh as he set the items down next to the pallet and had a seat. Maybe Al wouldn't show for their date. Eric hadn't meant to snap at him, but he was getting tired of having to prove himself over and over. He didn't care so much if the others needed to keep testing him but he thought Alan should know better by now.

"It's mah own fault fer leaving him tae face this on his own fer so long," the Scotsman reminded himself as he stared up at the clear night sky. At least there was no cloud cover to interfere with the view of the stars. He sighed yet again, unable to find comfort in his own reminder of why his partner couldn't trust him as he once did. He'd really blown it with that breach of trust, and it was just going to take a while to regain it.

* * *

Alan should have known that Grell would have entirely too much fun dressing him up for his date. After finding Alan's closet disappointing, especially after Alan insisted he didn't wish to wear a dress on his first date with the love of his life; Grell had drug him to his own room where he dug out something that would both fit Alan and look nice for their date.

The red vest was surprisingly slimming on Alan when viewing him from the front. And it was coupled with a lacy white blouse buttoned up to his neck. His pants were tan, and thigh-high boots laced up over them. In his hand, he carried a small frame. One that Eric would recognize.

"Eric?" he asked, stepping out onto the balcony and looking around, not seeing Eric at first.

"O'er here," came the response from the taller man. His voice was laced with relief. He hadn't been stood up, thank Lugh. He didn't think his pride could have taken that right now. He turned to look up at him as his partner approached and Eric's jaw dropped a little at the sight of him.

"Ya look amazing," he said truthfully. That was the second time today that Alan had wowed him. Wha's tha' yer holding?"

Alan blushed, "Thank you...I let Grell use me as his dress-up doll..." he admitted, walking over and slowly, and with a lack of his usual grace, started to lower himself to sit next to Eric. He then turned the frame over in his hands so that it faced upwards. It was a pressed Erica flower blossom pinched between silk and glass on display. It had been one of the gifts Eric had sent in his care packages.

It had always been his favorite flower, the Erica...

"Solitude..." he stated in a gentle voice, looking down at the flower, "I've lived it for so long. Before I met you, before I entered school...even before I knew I'd one day die, I thought I'd be alone for, well, forever." He looked up at Eric, "and then you entered my life. It got harder and harder to not fall for you, but then you were gone again and I…I fell back into solitude, but this time, with heartache..."

He was on a painful subject for Eric again, and he knew that. But that wasn't his focus or his aim. It was just part of what he needed to say.

"But you weren't gone...not really. I should have seen that. I should have seen that I had your heart with me this whole time I longed for you. And because I was blind to that-I've been blind to so much more now that you are here in body as well. I don't know how to live in anything else but that old world of solitude, and I didn't realize how hard you were trying to show me that you are here with me. That you can help and protect me..."

He breathed in and gripped the frame a little more firmly, "I'm sorry, Eric."

Eric sat speechless, staring at him. His gaze slid to the pressed flower he'd sent to Alan months ago. He hadn't expected an apology. He was so used to apologizing to everyone else; he didn't know quite how to react. He lowered his gaze and he tried to come up with a response to Alan's gracious apology.

"I'm trying, sweetheart. Ya deserve better than wha' I've given ya, an' I mean tae see to it ya get tha'. Apology accepted, though. Thanks fer bein' patient an' trying tae understand. I love yeh, Alan, an' we might no' have a perfect life right now, but I have hopes fer a brighter future withou' Thorns or fanatical organizations hanging o'er our heads, an' we can raise our kids in peace."

He'd been reconsidering giving Alan his surprise tonight and waiting for another time, but the moment was perfect for it now. He might not get a more perfect moment, in fact. He smiled at the smaller reaper as he reached into his pocket for the case he had in there.

"I've go' something special for ya. Picked it up today when I stepped ou' fer a minute tae find a restroom. I was actually lookin' fer something else, but it'd spoil tha surprise if I'd told ya. Close yer eyes an' hold out yer right hand."

"You…didn't have to. Eric, you spoil me." Alan flushed, looking at him in awe. He'd made the man feel...well, he assumed Eric felt rejected, today, but still he was doing romantic gestures like this?

And wait. Did he just say "kids"? As in more than one? Did Eric want to have more with him?

The brunet was too stunned to say much more.

"Actually I did, if I want tae call myself a good husband."

Once Alan's eyes were closed, the Scotsman opened the little case to reveal the silver band inside. It was of simple but elegant design, with the likeness of thorny vines engraved into it. When he saw it he knew it was perfect: a symbol of the hope he clung to in his heart. He turned Alan's outstretched hand over so the palm was facing downward and he slipped the ring onto Alan's ring finger. He smiled. It was a perfect fit.

"A'right, open yer eyes, love."

But Alan had frozen. He already knew what it was by just the feel of it.

"Eric..."

He knew he'd get a wedding band if they made it through everything-but after they made it through everything. He thought it'd be something they got once they were able to make a home for themselves and they could access their bank accounts again without being arrested. Rings weren't cheep.

"Eric you..." he opened his eyes, looking down at the ring around his finger. "...It's beautiful..."

"I wanted tae do it formally," admitted the Scotsman in a whisper. "It's tha least ya deserve, Alan."

"Formal as in romantic setting with an actual ring, I take it?" Alan smiled and leaned over, cupping Eric's cheek with the hand now supporting the ring next to the first before pressing his lips to Eric's in a gentle kiss. "Then I'll formally accept." he whispered. Eric's ring the man used to propose a second time was far too large for Alan to wear so it was kept in their room.

Alan had no doubt of how serious Eric was in wanting their vows to be made. The number of rings Alan had been presented with were more than enough physical proof. But it wasn't the rings that Alan cared about. It was the man presenting them.

Eric was so happy, his heart was soaring. He'd seen a number of more feminine rings in the jeweler's and it wasn't easy picking one that would suit as a masculine engagement ring. The band was thin enough to pass for a lady's band though, and Alan could switch it to his other finger when going into town to serve as a wedding band if he needed to, until they actually tied the knot.

"There's more," he said, recalling the other items he'd brought. He reached into his other pocket to find the larger case in it. Drawing it out, he opened it up to display the two brass wedding bands he'd picked up. They were plain, but he could look for something better to replace them with later on. One was thicker than the other and that one was meant for his larger finger. "I figured it was time tae pick up some rings fer us. Al, I know this isnae tha best setting fer a wedding, but I dun' want tae wait until tha baby's born to say our vows. I thought maybe this weekend down on tha beach? We could make an arch tae stand under, if ya want somethin' more formal."

Traditional unions between reapers were quite low-key, compared to mortal weddings. No preacher or celebrant was required. The couple simply exchanged their vows either at dawn, sunset or at midnight, and the bond became sealed. From what Eric understood, it formed a stronger bond than the linking that their community had performed with each other, allowing the pledged couple to not only trace one another's location, but sense any feelings of distress they felt more acutely than a common linking. For that reason, becoming wedded was a very serious matter to most reapers and many of them avoided it unless they were completely devoted to their partner or had children with them.

Alan took pause, at that. "Before the baby?" he whispered, looking at the rings, "But...you'd be able to feel it... When the baby comes and...when my Thorns wake up again...you'll be able to feel just how bad they can be..." he swallowed. He didn't want to subject Eric to that if he didn't have to. They had the chance at curing Thorns, now. If they waited...then Eric would never have to feel what the illness did to his body and soul.

"I'm no' afraid of that," insisted Eric. He took the smaller reaper's hands in his and he threaded their fingers together. "Didn't I tell ya I'd do anything tae share yer pain? Haven't I always said I want tae be there for ya?"

He released one of Alan's hands to lay his hand protectively over his abdomen, rubbing in gentle, slow circles. "We made this baby t'gether. We'll bring it into tha world t'gether. Doesnae feel right tae me for yeh tae be tha only one suffering through tha labor, anyhow."

"But—I don't want to have you suffer my illness more than you already do..." Alan whispered emotionally "They say that taking the vows means sharing any distress the other feels...and there is no way for me to describe to you how it feels during an attack. You being here for me...that's enough. I don't want to see you in pain as well."

Eric's expression softened and he cupped Alan's face in both hands, staring into his eyes. "I won't feel it as strongly as ya do," he soothed. "It's more a phantom pain, from what I hear. Alan, I want tae greet this child as yer husband...no' just its father. If I've go' tae share some of your struggle in more than emotion then it's worth it. Don't ya think it's better tha' we're wed when tha little one comes along?"

Alan gave a small nod, "Yes...it would." he admitted, leaning over and resting his head on Eric's shoulder, "It would be...nice."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "If I didn't have the potential of the cure you found for me...I wouldn't have these second thoughts about when we get married. If we wait, we can do so after we know if I'm cured or not... I'd be happy if you never had to feel even a hint of Thorns, and...I don't know..." he slipped his arms around Eric, "But it would be nice for our baby when he or she comes into this world..."

"Yer mah soul mate," Eric murmured against Alan's hair. "I'm no' afraid of feeling wha' you've endured fer all this time. I jus' want tae be yer husband."

Alan was silent a long moment, doing nothing but holding Eric in his arms and thinking it over. "Alright." he finally nodded, "We'll do it before the baby comes."

Eric relaxed as the anticipatory tension drained from him. "Thank ye, sweetheart. I know we won't regret it, no matter wha' tha future holds."

He dearly hoped that future was bright and wouldn't end in tragedy. Eric wanted nothing more than to live a long life with his lover, surrounded by family and absent the Thorns. It would take time, dedication and bravery to ensure the threat of the interlopers at Dispatch was removed, but he had to believe that with the determination of their friends and allies, they would eventually win out. It might take time to rebuild Dispatch to its former glory but that was a worthy alternative to simply letting the enemy keep it.

"I'll ne'er stop fighting fer our future, Alan," he promised in a whisper. "I know mah choices havenae always been tha best, but mah heart's in tha right place, I think."

He glanced at the untouched basket of food and the drinks sitting beside it. "Fer now though, we ought tae enjoy our dinner while it's still warm."

Alan nodded once more and pulled back to situate himself so that he could more comfortably eat his meal. He was hungry, and the baby was, too.

"What's for dinner?" he asked eagerly, watching as Eric started to pull things out of the basket.

"Potato and leek soup," answered the Scotsman. "I think there's some ham in it too. Dinnae get a good look when I was getting our helpings though." He withdrew Alan's bowl first and handed it to him with a spoon and a napkin, before collecting his own. "Some of Father Anderson's spiced cider tae wash it down, also. Want some crackers?"

"Yes, please." Alan nodded, stirring the soup to get an idea of how hot it was before he started to eat it. A burnt tongue wouldn't be ideal for the snogging session he was sure they'd be sharing after they ate.

Eric grabbed the crackers from the basket and he crumpled some of them up into Alan's soup, smiling. "Yer wish is my command." He did the same with his own meal, and he took a sip of the still-warm cider before scooping up a spoonful of soup. "I'd have helped wi' some of it, if I weren't sae bloody terrible at cooking."

"That's okay. I enjoy cooking...I can do all the cooking when we finally get to settle into our lives together as a family." Alan flushed before sipping soup from his spoon.

He could picture it all too well. A baby in a high chair at the table, playing with wooden alphabet blocks as Alan baked cookies in an apron, Eric getting home from the overtime he always seemed to get, only to go greet them both with kisses... It was all so domestic and perfect.

Eric's mind was filled with similar fantasies and he couldn't stop grinning as he too began to eat. He put aside his concerns that the Thorns might kill his love before the cure could be administered and he focused on happy thoughts.

Alan was the slower eater of the two, so when Eric finished his meal he just shifted his attention between the stars and his lover. Once Alan finished, the Scotsman opened up his coat and pulled him into a warm embrace, kissing the crown of his head.

"This weekend," he decided aloud. "We'll take our vows then. I'll leave it up tae yeh how many attend."

"Not many." Alan shook his head, not wanting to make a spectacle of such an intimate event in their lives, "Just those closest to us... Ronald, William, Grell... And Undertaker as well." he decided. Ronald was Eric's best friend, and William, though they hadn't been particularly close to the man before hand, had become a close friend after he and Ronald got together. Grell had also been a good friend for many years, and as for Undertaker...he was starting to feel more and more like a father to Alan these days.

Eric hid a grimace at the mention of the Undertaker. He still hadn't forgotten being kicked across the room by the ancient, nor could he forget the cruel prank Undertaker had played on him making him think the Thorns were killing Alan...but he knew that the man had been there for Alan when Eric could not be. He chose not to argue with his lover's decision and he nuzzled his ear. "Tha's fine, love. Whatever yeh want."

He slipped his hands around Alan's front to rub the swell of his abdomen. Being this close to him and holding him like this was getting him aroused; but he wasn't about to pressure him for more than an embrace this far along in his pregnancy. The last time they'd tried to have sex ended in disaster and Eric was frankly terrified of causing any harm to his partner or their child by attempting it again.

"I love ya," he whispered sincerely.

"I love you, too." Alan muttered, closing the distance between their lips, "I'm so glad you kissed me and got me to realize my feelings for you, and for returning those feelings and being here beside me."

"I am too," agreed Eric with a grin. Perhaps it hadn't turned out so great for Alan with the unplanned pregnancy and all, but even that seemed to have worked out for the better. Who knew how advanced his Thorns would be by now if the pregnancy hadn't halted the progress of the curse? Maybe it was selfish of Eric to think that way, but they were getting both a child and another chance out of this. As much as he inwardly wanted to resent the Undertaker for past interactions, the man was Alan's best hope at a cure. Short of getting his hands on the doctor that came up with the cure for the Thorns Eric didn't have much of a choice but to put his faith in the Undertaker.

"...When we can return home..." Alan spoke up after a long pause of looking up at the stars above, "will we move into your place? Or get a new place, maybe?" he asked. His own apartment was too small for the three of them. Eric at least had a spare room they could make into a nursery.

"If it's still available," sighed Eric. "Probably go' evicted months ago. I'd be shocked if all mah things weren't auctioned off, too. We may have tae start all o'er again."

He smiled though, and he kissed Alan's cheek. "But I'm fine wi' tha', if it's tae be tha' way. Starting from scratch doesnae seem sae terrible, wi' you at mah side."

"Except we can't afford it..." Alan pointed out. "We aren't making money currently, and my bank account has always been low due to medical bills and my medication. And you always have gone out and splurged on drinks and fancy cars." He said, rubbing his hand up and down Eric's chest.

Eric's desire increased with his companion's innocent touch, and he shifted uncomfortably to keep from poking him with the evidence of his arousal. "If we win out against those bastarts, we'll have our old jobs back an' I'm sure Dispatch'll give us back pay and a bonus. We might even be able to get our old places back, once tha landlords hear wha' really happened. Either way, we'll work something out."

Alan signed, "I really never even thought of what would happen to our apartments and belongings left behind. I guess if and when we take Dispatch back over again, we'll have personal messes to clean up, not just professional messes." He shifted closer and pulled a blanket up over them for added warmth.

"Aye, it's no' going tae be easy getting back tae where we were, but it'll be all tha more satisfying once we do." Eric cuddled the smaller reaper, determined not to let the weight of their predicament spoil the evening. "An' jus' think of it; we'll have a new son or daughter tae raise t'gether. All this hardship will be worth it in the end, sweetheart. I dun' care if we've go' tae shack up wi' some of our coworkers fer a while starting out, we'll eventually get back on our feet."

Alan nodded and looked back up at the stars, "I hope we can win this... I don't know how else we could rise our child if we are wanted men for the rest of eternity..."

Eric didn't even want to consider that possibility. He was going to have a family soon, and failure was not an option. What they really needed to do was get the truth out…let everyone know what was really happening. He believed that if the reaper world knew the truth, more would join the fight. In order to broadcast the message though, they needed to at least be _in_ the Shinigami realm and have access to the networks. That tricky bit of meddling would most likely fall on the shoulders of Alexander Jeffries, though.

"Once we take back tha London division, tha rest will fall into place," he insisted. "It's just getting tae tha' point an' holding tha place. If we can do tha', we can win this."

"I hope you are right." Alan signed, "But I won't be joining the fight. Not in my condition... It'd be all up to the rest of you."

"Don't feel bad about tha'," soothed Eric. "Nobody would expect a pregnant reaper tae be in tha fight, an' I'm pretty sure they wouldn't allow it if ya tried. Besides, we dun' know when we'll be moving in anyhow. Ya might have the kid an' be recovered by the time we get tha chance tae make our move."

He immediately wished he could take his words back, because he still didn't want Alan joining the fight even after the baby came. He didn't allow himself to think of the Thorns claiming his life before they could be cured. Someone was going to have to look after their son or daughter while the fight happened, and he would prefer it be Alan or him.

"Even then..." Alan shook his head, "Our baby will be in need of constant care. I don't think I could leave them." He admitted.

Eric found himself relieved. "Right, and nobody would fault ya fer tha'. I'd rather one of us stay behind tae take care o' tha baby anyhow." He sighed and he rubbed his cheek against Alan's. "Do ya think I'm too protective of yeh, Alan?"

"Sometimes," Alan admitted, "but not always…and not since I have become pregnant. I know you need to protect me now. I shouldn't fight to protect myself. It'd put the baby at risk. I only wish you would let me know when you are doing something, beforehand."

Eric nodded and sighed. He hadn't really been sure what he was going to do himself, when he snuck over to see what that reaper agent was up to. "I really dinnae plan tae attack him," he admitted. "No' at first. No' until I heard him calling it in tha' he recognized me, and then I just…reacted. All I was thinking of was keeping him away from ya. It wasnae meant tae be a fight tae th' death."

"You could have told me you were going to investigate, at least." Alan pointed out, sliding his leg along Eric's.

"Aye, an' I'm sorry fer tha'." Eric rubbed Alan's belly again, speaking into his ear. "Ya could give me a spanking later if yeh want."

Alan flushed, "Maybe if I wasn't pregnant." He muttered, knowing his mind was going dirty places again. He just couldn't help it.

Eric chuckled, and he refrained from telling Alan that it wouldn't hurt the baby. He was only kidding to get a blush out of him, after all. He kissed his neck and sighed, rocking him slowly in his arms.

"I'm a patient man when it comes tae you. I dun' want yeh tae feel pressured or anything, Alan. Jus' being wi' ya is enough fer me right now."

"That's not it." The brunet shook his head, "I want to do things with you, but I can't. I have never been so...so dirty-minded as I am right now with the way my hormones are."

Eric smiled, glad to hear it wasn't due to a lack of desire on his lover's part. "We'll be married soon. It's no' dirty tae want tha one yeh love." He rubbed his belly again and he nibbled his ear, feeling a thrill go through him when Alan made a distressed little noise. "I want ya too…all tha time. There's no shame in tha'."

He almost didn't do it for fear that he might contradict himself and pressure the brunet…but what was the harm in giving Alan a bit of pleasure? Eric deftly burrowed his hand beneath Alan's vest and shirt so that he could caress his skin without a barrier. He pressed soft, tender kisses along his neck as he skimmed his fingers over the smaller man's abdomen and upwards, before stroking downwards toward the waistline of his pants. He didn't allow his touch to go further than that, waiting for some signal from him.

"I'd be happy tae relieve some o' tha' frustration, sweetheart," he purred. "We dun' have tae make love tae make ya feel good, ya know."

"But what if I'd want more?" Alan asked, moaning and shifting against Eric's touches, "Nnyg...Eric...your not helping my control..." He closed the distance between their lips again, pulling Eric's lips firmly against his own.

Eric gave a soft groan himself, and the sound was muffled in the kiss. He'd underestimated Alan's sincere frustration in his teasing, and now his intention to play a bit without pushing it too far was shot to Hell. His state of arousal increased and he plunged his tongue into Alan's mouth, purring in his throat.

"Guess ya weren't exaggerating," he mumbled, and then he kissed him again, his hands busily caressing beneath Alan's clothes. He pressed firmly up against him, aching for him. He dragged his questing hands lower to cup Alan's hips, somehow refraining from feeling him up just yet.

"I did warn you." Alan whispered against his lips, "I need t keep in control of myself as much as I can around you..."

"Why's tha'?" Wondered Eric huskily. Ya know I won't take it too far. No' now, when yer getting sae close tae yer time."

Indeed, he was too scared of hurting him now to go all the way again until after the child came and Alan was recovered. The last time they started to and Eric tore his stitches was the last time he'd tried. They missed that window as he healed from the gunshot and now he thought it was too late to risk it.

But Alan had just told him the answer to that: he wanted more than making out. Eric did too, but he couldn't let his desire melt away caution.

He groaned, finally getting it. "Och, dun' answer tha'. I think I get it, lover."

With a sigh, he withdrew his hands from under Alan's shirt and he embraced him again, trying to calm his lust. "Looks like I need tae be more careful around ya too. So easy tae forget mahself an' get carried away."

"It won't be long." Alan promised, playing with Eric's hair, "My due date is getting close, and then we can act on our needs when we have the opportunity to do so."

Eric smirked ruefully. "An' here I've been trying tae keep mah hands off ya, wi'out even realizing ya were frustrated too. I've really been tryin' no' tae paw at ya all tha time, Al."

"Mm, I love you, too." Alan smiled, kissing him again, "We'll figure something out later when it's safer. I promise you that."

Satisfied with the promise, Eric sighed and nuzzled his hair again, looking up at the sky. He spotted a shooting star and he pointed quickly. "Look, Alan! Make a wish."

Alan smiled, closing his eyes as the light from the shooting star flickered out. A home. A warm, safe home where he, Eric, and their child can live happily. That was all he could ever wish for as he lay under the stars with Eric.

* * *

-To be continued


	21. Chapter 21

While Eric and Alan had their date, William reviewed the cinematic records collected from the alleged enemy agent. He sighed with relief to find that Slingby's suspicions were correct. The reels showed the vanquished reaper not only collaborating with agents that William knew to be part of the Revivalist regime, but going on a specific manhunt...for Eric.

"Well, this answers one question," he sighed to Ronald, "but it opens up others at the same time, such as how he managed to track him all the way here."

"Hate to say it... but we may have to consider packing up and moving again." Ronald sighed. It was a shame, they had a good thing here and no one would be happy to see it go. They were comfortable, they had some protection from outside sources, and it was beautiful. But they had to keep moving if Dispatch was now in the area.

William nodded. "I was thinking the same. He may have just been scouting, but he seemed a long way from home. We know that we have no moles in our community now, so perhaps he has been tracking us through the mortal community, asking local humans along the way questions concerning us. Otherwise, someone got careless."

He compressed his lips and he gathered the cinematic records from Eric's scythe into his. "We must approach the council on this matter and double guard duty, until a decision can be made to either stay or leave."

The council had already been scouting out potential locations to evacuate to in case the worst happened, but there were none as nice as this. In fact, most of the nearest locations were out in the wilderness. Such a setting would be difficult to defend, and harder on those such as Alan that were expecting.

"I promise I wasn't careless this time!" Ronald said, standing up and walking over to Will's side, slipping his arms around him, "I wont make that mistake again. But still...sucks. This place was starting to feel kinda like home."

William smirked slightly. "I was not about to suggest it was you, Ronald. You have demonstrated integrity I doubt you'd have been capable of, before this all happened. Still, our situation and the struggle we face make it quite possible that someone within our colony slipped at some point. The council may attempt to pin the blame on Slingby due to this most recent event, but we were all there when the Undertaker treated him. We took every precaution possible to ensure they could not trace us back to here. There is still a possibility that we somehow missed something, but I doubt it."

He sighed again. "Which means that we must consider our recent raids and go over each and every account of the events. Something had to have led that agent here to Athens."

"Well... we didn't start debugging the guns until morning... maybe that was long enough for them to track us?" Ron suggested.

William took that into consideration. "We can present that possibility at the meeting. For now, let's just get it started. We should split up and seek out the members of the council immediately and call for an unscheduled emergency meeting; but try not to speak of it too urgently in front of any civilian groups. We cannot afford a panic."

"Sure thing." Ronald sighed, trudging to the door, "We need to make our move soon...We all would like to have a home we can keep, again..."

William tried to think of something reassuring to say to him, but comfort wasn't his strong point. With a sigh of his own, he followed Ronald out the door and they split up to inform the ruling council that an unscheduled meeting needed to be arranged.

* * *

The Undertaker was pulled away from his research to attend the meeting, and he listened as William explained what had happened, showed the council the gathered cinematic records and proposed his theories and ideas. A frown marred the funeral director's normally smiling face and he spoke up. "Chances are that fellow tracked us as far as Greece because of a trail, but I'm of the mind that Mr. Knox could be onto something. As quickly as Mr. Jeffries tries to work, he's got no real assistance and he's only one bloke."

Lawrence nodded. "Indeed. While he could conceivably train some of our more technical savvy members, it would take time and he is already overworked. We must consider better options than pillaging the enemy's weapons stores. My engineer has informed me that he and his crew have worked out how the guns were created, so we could begin manufacturing them on our own now. However, we shall require materials from the Reaper realm in order to do so."

"Well, we could ask the local dispatch here for help on that, otherwise we'd have to make more raids for the supplies, which is dangerous to our numbers." spoke up one of the members of their council.

"Yes, but do we dare still trust the local agency?" Someone else said. "They could be compromised now."

"If that were true, then our enemies would already be on top of us," Undertaker pointed out. "That bloke wasn't from around here. I can get in touch with my Greek contact and see what he can do for us. Meanwhile, I think Jefferies ought t' keep a close eye on any reports that might pop up about this agent going missing. Sorry to be the one to say it folks, but we should start packing. Even if it was just a fluke for Slingby to run into this fellow, Dispatch is likely going to send people to investigate what happened to him. That's too bloody close for comfort, by my thinking."

There was a collective groan of protest, but everyone knew Undertaker was right.

"We shall make the announcement to our individual groups." said a woman with a heavy Russian accent, "start moving to the new location. Which one shall we plan to use?"

Anderson took out his pipe and started sucking on it, unlit. It soothed him even when he had no tobacco in it to smoke; it helped clear his thoughts. "Thus far, all we have at our disposal nearby is thick woodlands. We'll need camping supplies and we may need to live off the land for a bit, until we can reach a more civilized place to set up the new base."

William looked less than thrilled with the notion. "Pardon me sir, but I don't believe any of us here are particularly skilled woodsmen...or women."

"Yeah, I'm not, I know. And what about people like Alan?" Ronald spoke up, raising a hand in the air. "If complications arise, it can't be good that we're living in trees and warming ourselves over camp fires like cavemen."

"Not to worry, chap," said the Undertaker, "we won't be living like Robin Hood and his merry men for long; just while we're traveling. We jump from one country to the next via mass portals—the special kind they can't track, mind you—and we stick to the wooded areas and avoid towns 'till we scout out someplace remote enough to keep off their radar. Shouldn't be in one place longer than a few days while we're throwing them off the scent, and I can contact some folk in the underground to help set us up somewhere far from here. Alan shouldn't drop that nipper before we've settled in somewhere with a proper roof and bedding, even if it's not as nice as this place."

"And what of the equipment?" Questioned the tall blond Dane that seemed to have taken a personal liking to their only master hacker. "Will the aether generator work out in the wilderness to power Alex's computer?"

Undertaker smirked. "It'll work anywhere. That's why it's called a generator. Runs on chemical fuel I boil up in the lab using herbs from this realm and converts it to Shinigami energy. Alexander's done well converting electricity to aether and all, but that won't be an option in the woods and it may not be once we get where we're going, either. My generator's done good with the reaper equipment we've got now, and it'll do just as well in the wild. We'll have the power we need."

Ronald leaned over to whisper to Will, "If we have to go camping, we are sharing a sleeping bag."

"That was never in question," William uttered back under his breath. Aloud, he spoke to his elders. "We should discuss which direction to evacuate to. I personally feel Turkey should be our next destination."

Undertaker shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Spears. We should head back up through Romania and make our way back to England."

Several people stared at the mortician, including William. Lawrence was the first to speak out. "That would lead us directly back toward our enemy and into the heart of their territory."

The other ancient smiled. "Precisely. Now see here, the further away we drift from our home, the harder it's going to be to mobilize to strike back at them. It was all very well and good to get as far away as possible in the beginning, but they're spreading out and soon they'll be everywhere...and we'll run out of places to hide. The good news is—as we've discussed before—that the more they spread out, the thinner their defenses are going to get in London Dispatch. They won't be expecting us to be heading right back into their territory. They'll be expecting us to flee further away until we've nowhere else to go, and then they'll try to box us in. Would you rather do it that way?"

William lowered his gaze, torn. "Time will be of the essence when the opportunity comes around to move in and take back what they stole from us, but you've made a risky proposition, Undertaker. We stand to lose everything we've preserved."

"Or gain everything we lost," pointed out the Undertaker. He tapped his fingertips together. "Sometimes the biggest risks are the ones worth taking, lad. The closer we are when they slip up, the greater our chances of hitting fast and winning the day. They _will_ slip up, trust me. They've gotten cocky and they believe us all t' be nothing more than a pack of scared rabbits for the hunt...but we'll turn it around on them. Don't forget we have my army waiting for us back in London."

"I agree with him." Ron spoke up again. "It may be because I'm sorta known for taking risks and being a bit reckless, but this is a gamble that determines our fate when the time comes. If we do choose the safe path we could end up on the run for the rest of our lives, and I for one, would not enjoy that. I miss being free to go out to the pub or a joy ride on my bike. Both options have the risk of us getting captured or killed, but going back towards London gives us the element of surprise, even if we'll have to be even more careful about our activity until we make our strike."

"I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but I'm in agreement with that plan of action, myself." Anderson puffed his pipe rapidly, straightening his shoulders. He brushed his hands over his once dapper vest—which was now worn and a little frayed—and he looked around at the assembly. "We have been hiding like gophers in our holes for long enough. I say it is time for us to begin making our way back home and finalizing our plans to strike back."

" _Your_ home," reminded Fabian Olson in his thick Danish accent. "What of the other divisions like Copenhagen?"

"They will come with time," assured Lawrence. "For now, we need to take back where it all came from; and do not forget that Reaper London is also where the Great Library exists...the largest collection of souls in Shinigami vaults anywhere. If we can win our division back, it will show those not yet fully committed to the enemy that there is hope, and more will join us."

Undertaker snapped his fingers and nodded. "Exactly! All it takes is to show folks that these stuffy degenerates aren't unbeatable. Think of it like a snowball rolling downhill. It'll get bigger and gain more momentum as it goes; but someone's got to start it rolling, and we're the only ones likely to take up the task."

"Even London won't be safe after we take it back if we don't also get the other divisions back." Ron nodded, feeling more comfortable speaking up, "We need to take them all back so of course we'll spread out and help get back all the others. We're in this together until the end."

"Then are we all in agreement?" Anderson prompted. "First we concentrate on taking back London and then once we have established a solid foothold, we move on to the other divisions?"

There was some quiet debate amongst the council, but finally everyone raised their hands in agreement. There was still one issue to consider though, and William pointed it out. "This still leaves us with the fact that we lack people with basic woods lore. While I am sure we can manage for a few days with common sense and rations, our supplies will eventually wane."

"Well, I'm quite the botanist if I do say so," offered the Undertaker. "I know my way around herbs and plants, so scavenging for food and medicinal herbs won't be an issue."

"And protein?" William raised a brow. "We've a lot of mouths to feed, sir. I doubt that berries, nuts and mushrooms will be enough to provide the nutrition our community requires—particularly those expecting offspring."

"Er...I s'pose we could send an agent into the nearest town to get supplies when we run out, the way we've been doing here." Undertaker shrugged helplessly, not knowing what else to say. He himself could live of wild veggies, nuts, berries and shrooms indefinitely, but he understood that finding enough to feed everyone might prove a task.

"Or we could belay that risk and make a public announcement," sighed Lawrence. "We shall have to inform the community of what is going on as it is. We can put up a bulletin requesting that any reapers with hunting or outdoor survival knowledge to volunteer their skills for the benefit of the camp. Surely _someone_ in our ranks has set foot outside the city before."

Fabian stood up. "I can fish. It cannot be so different in this part of the world from Denmark—save for the type of fish."

Anderson smiled and nodded. "Good man. We cannot expect your catches alone to feed the whole colony though. Mr. Spears, would you and your partner be so inclined to handle recruitment for this duty, once we put the bulletin out in the lobby?"

William glanced at his lover. Having learned to treat Ronald less like a subordinate and more like a partner while they were in this situation, he nodded and gave the most logical answer he could think of. "While I cannot speak for my partner, I am willing."

"I guess I could help with it." Ron shrugged, "It'd be faster with the two of us"

"Good. Then we ought to go ahead and get things rolling. We should hold one more meeting right after we move to see what the status of everything is," suggested the American representative.

"Agreed," responded Lawrence. "Do we have an accord, Ladies and Gentlemen?"

The vote was unanimous, and the meeting was called to a close. The council dispersed and set out to put the plan into action, leaving the more charismatic speakers to address the public directly so as to avoid creating a panic.

* * *

Roughly an hour later, Alexander Jeffries stepped out onto the balcony where Alan and Eric were enjoying their romantic time together. He winced and he cleared his throat at the sight of the two lovers wrapped up in a tight embrace. "Uh, excuse me. I'm awfully sorry to interrupt, but the council just had a community meeting. Nobody wanted to come drag you two into it until we knew what was going on, but it's pretty serious."

Alan frowned, looking up and placing a hand over his belly under the blanket they were sharing, "How serious is it?" he asked, his mind running over everything that could possibly have happened.

"Well..." Alex scratched his head nervously as the taller of the two stood up and walked over to him. Eric intimidated him—especially after he heard it took several reapers to hold him down when they were digging the bullet out of him. "Th-they're calling for an evacuation. Seems they reviewed the cinematic records of that guy Mr. Slingby reaped and they think enemy Dispatch is getting too close, so they don't want to give them a chance to box us in. The council is asking for anyone with outdoor survival skills to come forward and volunteer their help."

Eric tilted his head and frowned. "Tha's tha way of it, eh?" He sighed. "Guess our date's over with. Might as well start gatherin' our things, lover."

"Why are they asking for people with survival skills? Surely our contacts have a new place lined up for us, like they have every other time we have had to pack up and move." Alan frowned, using the wall to help himself up to his feet. He glanced over in the direction of the beach, waves washing up onto the warm sands. "So much for a wedding on the beach..."

Eric glanced back at said beach, and he compressed his lips. "We're havin' our wedding on tha beach, Alan. Even if we've go' tae do it tonight, we're taking our vows tha way we planned."

He looked at Alex. "An' yeh can put mah name on tha' list, too. Unlike a lot o' mah coworkers, I've spent some time outdoors. I know how tae hunt, track an' build shelter. I was born an' raised in tha highlands, an' mah family couldnae always afford groceries. We learned tae live off tha land when we had to."

Alexander was only briefly surprised to discover that. Slingby was after all one of the more rugged agents he knew, and the Celts were known for retaining a sense of tribalism. Those people didn't mess around. "Um, sure. I'll let the higher-ups know right away. So...you two are going for it, then? You're gonna have a wedding?"

Eric turned to his partner and smiled, putting an arm around Alan as he approached. "Damned righ', we are. I think we've put it off long enough. It might no' be tha most elegant reception but we're having that beach wedding we talked about, one way or tha other."

"But we have much to pack. We must help with community packing as well as our own. And we have a fair amount ourselves because of the baby," Alan pointed out. "I'd rather not bet closed in here because of wanting to take our vows on the beach rather than...wherever we are headed."

Feeling like an interloper, Alex hastily excused himself. "Well, I'll leave you two to work it out. I've got too much stuff to do. See you later."

As the young hacker left, Eric cupped Alan's face in his hands and held his gaze. "We've go' time tae pack our things, sweetheart. This union's too important tae me to put it off again. It shouldn't take us more than a few minutes tae speak tha vows an' I doubt anyone would hold it against us if we put off our packing tae wed one ano'er. I want t' officially be yer husband before this baby comes."

He slid his hands down over Alan's shoulders and arms, and he rested them over the swell of his abdomen. "Doesn't our child deserve tha' from us?"

"Yes, of course. But I wasn't saying we put it off for months….just until we get to the new location." Alan insisted, looking up. Then he sighed, "You really are the most stubborn man I know."

Eric smiled and lowered his mouth to Alan's for a kiss. "Tha' I am, and I mean tae become yer husband before sunrise t'morrow. Ya know I won't let this go, lover. It's too important tae me and we've waited long enough as it is."

"There are worse things, I suppose. And this one is better than the last." Alan kissed Eric's cheek, "But we need to hurry if we are going to do it tonight. We can invite our guests, but they may not choose to come, given the evacuation."

Eric nodded in agreement. "Maybe we can have a second wedding after all this is o'er...somethin' more traditional an' less rushed. Let's go inside an' let tha boss an' tha others know."

* * *

William blinked up at Eric after the Scotsman finished signing his name on the list of survivalist volunteers. "Excuse me, but would you care to run that by me again, Mr. Slingby?"

"Sure." Eric shrugged and he looked up from the paper he'd just signed. "I said me and Alan are gonna get hitched t'night after we've packed up most of our things. Sorry tae spring it on yeh all tha sudden, but everyone knew it was comin' eventually an' we had our hearts set on a beach wedding...so I'm making sure we get tha'."

William nudged his glasses further up on his nose and he looked at Alan. "He's serious, isn't he?"

"I tried suggesting waiting until we are settled in the next location, but he insists on the beach." Alan explained, "We'd like it if you, Ronald, Grell, and the Undertaker could witness our vows, but understand if it's too short notice given the evacuation."

Will glanced at his partner. "Well, a wedding is certainly not an everyday occurrence. I suppose we could spare a half hour to witness your union, Mr. Humphries. I would say that now is not the appropriate time for such a ceremony, but considering you two are expecting, I can think of no better time than the present. At what time do you intend to do this?"

Eric checked his watch. "About an hour, boss. That ought tae give us time tae get our clothes packed away an' give yeh time tae wrap up wha' yer doing or assign someone else tae finish up for ya. Where's Father Anderson an' tha Undertaker at?"

"Anderson is overseeing the packing of food supplies and the Undertaker is most likely in his lab, packing equipment. If he is not there, you may find him with Grell."

Eric nodded. "Great. We'll tell them tha news an' then get started. Thanks, boss."

"I'm going to miss this place." Alan sighed as they walked down the hall arm-in-arm. "It really started to feel like home. We have stayed here longer than any other place..." he commented as they approached the door to Undertaker's lab.

Eric nodded in agreement. He hadn't lived there for as long as his associates, but he'd fallen in love with the retreat himself and it was going to be hard to leave the place they'd been calling home. "Maybe when this is all o'er, we can come back again fer a family vacation. Might even be able tae permanently rent our suite as a summer home, or somethin'."

They walked outside to find Father Anderson overseeing the loading of supply carts, and Eric approached him. "Sir, do yeh have a minute tae talk?"

Lawrence paused and he turned to regard them. "Of course I can spare a moment. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong, sir." Alan insisted, "Unless you count Eric's stubbornness." he added with a tease.

Lawrence retrieved his pipe from his vest and he began to pack it with the tobacco from his pouch. "Oh? What has he done this time?"

Eric laughed. "Nothin' bad, Mr. Anderson. I'm jus' determined tae have tha beach wedding me an' my partner have been wanting, an' since we cannae stay here, we're doing it t'night. We'd both love it if ya could come watch us take our vows. It won't be anything fancy...no time fer tha'...but we'd like our family tae be there."

Lawrence smiled warmly at the couple. "Well then, count me in! I cannot rightly blame you for wishing to take the opportunity while it is available, lad. If we cannot take a brief time out to see you two commit to one another, we lose sight of why we are fighting to begin with. Moments like this should be celebrated, no matter how briefly."

Eric put an arm around his lover and he smiled. "We were hoping ye'd say tha'. Well, no' exactly _tha'_ , but I expected some words o' wisdom from ya."

"We'll need to make this a night to remember, however brief it is. We may have a second one for show once we can return home again. Something more of our family and friends can come to, but we want to make it official before we are officially parents with a baby wiggling in our arms, rather than inside me." Alan smiled before giving the man the time in which they wanted to start things down at the beach.

Lawrence lit up his pipe and had a puff from it as he nodded. He prudently took a step back so as not to blow any of the smoke toward Alan. "I shall be there, lads. I can arrange for someone to take over here if we have not finished up by the appointed time. You'd best run along and give word to whomever you have left to inform, in the meantime."

"Good call," agreed Eric. "Come on, Alan...let's go find Grell an' Undertaker. Maybe we ought tae invite that Alex kid too. He seems tae like ya."

"Maybe; if you don't scare him off, first." Alan chuckled, "He's a sweet kid. He was my roommate for a while in the beginning of our living on the run from Dispatch. And he helped me a lot before you came back to me, after I announced my pregnancy to the group."

"I am afraid it doesn't take very much to startle Mr. Jeffries," sighed Lawrence. "While he is by no means a coward, rarely have I met a person so hung up on conspiracy theories as he is."

Eric smirked. "Well, he hasnae been wrong 'bout tha conspiracy theories, aye? I might let Al approach him while I go tae find Grell an' tha Undertaker. Kid might be more receptive tae him than me. I thought he might piss himself when he came tae tell us tha order tae evacuate was out."

"I think that may be your best option," agreed Lawrence with a chuckle. "It may do him some good to socialize for a bit, as well. That lad spends far too much time attached to his computer, save for when Mr. Olson drags him away for some time outside."

Alan nodded, "I'll go see if he's in his room working on packing his computers." he agreed, "I'll meet you back in our room to help start packing our things for the move."

* * *

Undertaker was enjoying a bit of quality time with his lover during a break from his research when Eric came knocking on the door. The mortician grumbled, frustrated with the interruption. He stopped kissing on the neck of the reaper sitting in his lap and he gently urged Grell off of him and readjusted his robes to hide the state he was in. "Just a bleedin' minute," he snapped. To Grell, he was more solicitous. "Excuse me, darlin'. No rest for the wicked, y' know."

He went to the door and he was faintly surprised to find Eric Slingby standing on the other side. "My, here's a visitor I didn't expect. If you're looking for answers about where we're going, I can't tell you much more than what you've already heard, lad."

Eric closed the door behind him, and he nodded in greeting to Grell. "Tha's no' why I'm here. I'm glad I caught ya both in tha same place. Me an' Alan are gonna take our vows in about forty-five minutes on tha beach. We'd like it if ye'd both come tae watch."

Grell blinked, "Tonight? Why tonight?" Grell shook his head and jumped up, moving over to hug Eric, "It's about damn time you did right by him! He's too cute and innocent not to be an honest mommy!"

"Aye, an' tha's why I dun' want tae put it off any longer," explained Eric after returning Grell's hug. "No telling when we'll have tha chance fer a nice setting again an' we dun' know how long we'll be out in tha wilds. So will ya both come?"

Undertaker beamed at him. "Of course! Glad to see you doing right by the lad, Slingby."

Eric relaxed a bit. "How's tha research comin' along on tha Thorns, sir?"

The mortician looked at his desk with all of his notes. "I'm making good progress, don't you worry. They brought me a recently deceased mortal yesterday and I was able to simulate the corruption caused by the Thorns in the records. It's not exactly the same but it's very close."

Eric frowned, having no idea he'd managed to get the approval to experiment like that. "How'd ya manage tae convince 'em tae let ya do tha'?"

"Very carefully." The Undertaker smirked. "But not to worry; I was able to undo what I did and get the records back to their original state. They've been properly collected and stored 'till we can get them to a library, and the fellow's body was buried afterwards. Now I know exactly how the process will work. Let's not worry about that tonight, though. It's your special occasion and you and your sweetheart should focus on that."

Grell nodded, "Does Alan have anything white to wear? He's obviously isn't a virgin anymore, but it still would suit him! And you need a suit. It's last minute but no reason you two can't look nice!"

"I...wull, I've go' a pair of black dress pants an' a matching satin shirt," Eric replied uncertainly. "Alan would look nice in white, though. No' sure if he's go' anything tha' would fit."

"Then you're in luck," chuckled the Undertaker with a smile at Grell. "Somehow this fashionable lady managed t' procure a good bit of nice clothes. Mayhap if your hubby to be has the time for it, he can have heads together with Grell and come up with something nice. Best hurry it up and get him to our suite, though. Time's running short."

"Right." Eric looked at Grell. "Cannae promise he's worried about wha' we wear, but I'll find him an' ask. See ya on tha beach in a while."

"Tell him that _I_ want him to be excited for it! I like having cute little dolls to dress up." He hurried to his wardrobe to search for anything white he could let out to fit over Alan's belly.

* * *

Alan was in his and Eric's room, already packing their belongings into bags and boxes when he heard the door open, "I extended the invitation to Alex," he said, not looking up, "I'm not sure if he'll show up, though. Did you invite Undertaker and Grell?" he asked as he held up a baby onesie they had picked up, aiming to fold it before packing it away.

Eric's words lodged in his throat for a moment, and all he could do was stare at his partner and the tiny little garment that Alan was in the process of folding. They were about to be leaving this place of peace...this sanctuary...and his pregnant lover would have gods knew how many days of roughing it and traveling in the wilds before they could find someplace more civilized. It never felt more important to him than that moment to do everything in his power to see that their small community of exiles was provided for.

He realized that Alan had asked him a question when the brunet looked up from his task and Eric nodded. "They said they'll come. Grell wants yeh tae join him in his suite so he can help ya find something tae wear...but I told him tha's up tae you. If ya want I can finish up where ya left off while ya go do tha' an' then I'll get dressed an' meet ya down on tha beach when it's time. Yer choice, sweetheart."

"I should have known Grell would want to play dress-up again." Alan shook his head with an amused chuckle as he put the onesie in the bag he was packing. He glanced around the room, "Well, I have gotten all of the baby's things ready, and I emptied the drawers of the chest over there. Everything else needs to get packed." He nodded. "I think I will take up Grell's offer. It'll help make this feel a little less last minuet."

Eric smiled and he approached the pointed out items. "I'll take care o' this. I'll see ya on tha beach, lover."

"Husband." Alan blushed, hugging the man from behind before he slipped from the room and made his way to Grell's fashionable hands.

* * *

Ronald stood out on the beach, lighting candles and torches to light the area better than just the moonlight, and to help create a nice atmosphere for the couple. The flickering lights formed a half-circle to match the half-moon, its open side facing the water's edge where gentle waves washed up onto the sand, still warm from being kissed by the sun all day.

"Ya know, I'm no designer, but I think this looks nice." he nodded.

Anderson lit the last torch and he stepped back to survey the area with a nod. "This was a nice idea, Ronald. I believe they'll be pleasantly surprised."

William came down onto the beach to join them, carrying with him a sack filled with individual bags of white flower petals. He handed one each to Ronald and Lawrence before withdrawing his own and setting the larger sack down. Lawrence examined his with surprise, before looking at William.

"Goodness lad, where did you manage to gather these in such a short time?"

Pleased with himself, William stepped up next to Ronald. "You may recall that there are Hellebore plants growing in the courtyard. I simply picked some of the blossoms and filled the bags with their petals for everyone to throw once Slingby and Humphries finish their vows. I thought it might lend a more traditional atmosphere to the occasion, considering they are forced to improvise. Throwing rice would be a waste of food and I'd rather not litter the beach with confetti."

Lawrence smiled. "That was very thoughtful of you, William. Between you and your partner, I think this event is going to be more special than our grooms expected."

William flushed a bit at the praise, and he looked out at the ocean's dark horizon. He wasn't used to being considered "thoughtful". In truth, he wasn't the sort of man to go out of his way to help plan weddings or parties, but he was undeniably relieved that Eric was stepping up so much and making this commitment to Alan before their child was born. Some might call him old fashioned, but he believed that couples should be married before reproducing. If nothing else, Alan deserved respect and commitment from his partner. Nobody could argue against that.

Fabian Olson came with Alexander Jeffries, and the latter of the two pulled his coat tighter and shivered. "Cold out here," complained Alex. "Is this everybody?"

Lawrence shook his head. "Undertaker and Grell are to attend, I believe. Mr. Slingby and Mr. Humphries wished for a small gathering of their closest friends."

Alex blinked in surprise. "I'm...they consider me one of their closest friends?"

Lawrence smiled. "Alan is quite fond of you, lad. If only you would get out a bit more."

Alex grimaced at the ironic look Fabian gave him. "I've been getting that a lot," mumbled the hacker. He shrugged. "But I barely have time to take food and bath breaks."

"Perhaps now that your trainees are improving in skill, you may have more time to yourself," reasoned Olson. He put an arm around the younger man and he smirked when Alex blushed.

"Please help yourselves to a bag of petals to throw at the end of the vows," offered William. "No salt, Mr. Jeffries. We don't need you to blind the newlyweds on their wedding night."

"Uh, yeah. Okay." Alex hastily collected two bags from the sack and he shivered as he rejoined the Dane that had taken such a liking to him. Unbidden, Will debated over the nature of their relationship, and he dearly hoped they were using protection if they had become sexual.

"Looks like everyone's here," Eric Slingby called out as he walked with Grell onto the beach. "Thanks fer comin', everyone."

"We seem to be missing Alan and the Undertaker," Will pointed out.

Eric eased Grell's arm off of his and he went to the center of the light pattern they'd put up. "Grell thought we both ought tae get escorted tae th' 'alter', so I guess Alan's comin' out wi' Undertaker. Hey, this looks great! Thanks, guys."

"Ronald's idea," informed William with a slight smile at his lover.

"Only the best for my best friend." Ronald grinned, "Congrats, man. Imagine the fun you'll have with everyone's reaction when we get to return to London, you with a ring on your finger and a baby on your hip!"

* * *

Alan stood at the edge of the beach with Undertaker, his gaze locked on the flickering lights at the water's edge where his lover and friends were all waiting.

There was nothing more in the world that he wanted more in that moment, but he couldn't help but feel the nervous little flutter of butterflies in his stomach, mixing with the gentle movements he felt from their unborn child.

He looked down at his belly and ran his hand over it, "Are you excited for tonight, too?" he asked the baby, feeling a little kick a moment later. The soon-to-be mother smiled and looked up at the Undertaker with a nod, "Okay, I think we are ready."

"Tally-ho, then," answered the mortician with a grin. He offered his arm to Alan and he escorted him down the path and over the sand of the beach. He couldn't help but chortle softly when Eric caught sight of Alan and just stood there blinking as if stunned. Undertaker wondered what it would be like to have someone walk Grell down the isle to him, all dressed fancy in a white gown and a veil. Maybe...just maybe...when this was all over he could gather the courage to take the vows and he and his lady could try again.

The daughter they'd lost would never be forgotten, though. Undertaker looked down at the young man he was escorting and his smile faded a bit. It would be a terrible tragedy if he failed Alan and the Thorns claimed his life after he brought his child into the world. Terrible tragedy for that child to grow up without a mother.

"You look really nice, by the way," complimented the mortician to his companion. "I think your hubby-to-be agrees with me, too. We might have to give him a bib."

Alan blushed. Grell had been able to sew and modify pieces of different articles of clothing he had in his collection to fit the smaller, pregnant male. He wore a white shirt with lacy frills under a white dress coat, which had been modified and attached to part of a long white skirt, which created a train that dragged behind him as he walked. At his neck he wore a soft yellow ascot that was fastened down with a diamond studded pin Grell had found in his purse. He wore white slacks, and Grell had rushed to Ronald's room to steal a pair of his infamous white shoes, glad that the two reapers wore about the same size.

The redhead had also brushed and styled the brunet's hair, pinning it back out of his eyes with roses and ribbons he quickly hand stitched together.

"Well, if he's wearing a dickey, he has the bib covered." Alan joked.

They finished closing the distance and the Undertaker relinquished Alan to his betrothed, before stepping back to join Grell's side and put an arm around him. Eric looked Alan up and down, helpless to conceal his appreciation for the way the outfit complimented his coloring and looks. "Ya look...gods, an' I thought ya looked great when ya joined me fer our date tonight, Alan. I cannae find words."

"How 'bout starting with: 'I Eric Slingby take you Alan Humphries' and going from there, chap?" Undertaker suggested with a beaming grin. "That's usually how these things start."

"Or, you can let me start..." Alan blushed, slipping his arms round Eric's neck and pulling them closer together so that he could look deep into his lover's eyes. "I, Alan Humphries take you, Eric Slingby to be my husband and mate for now and forever, through life and death, our souls will be as one from this moon, on."

Eric smiled and he embraced Alan around the waist, his abs brushing against the smaller reaper's protruding belly. "I, Eric Slingby take you, Alan Humphries tae be mah husband and mate, now an' forever, through life an' death. Our souls will be as one from this moon on."

"Well done," approved the Undertaker. "Now kiss."

"Undertaker, that's a horribly crass way to—" Anderson began to admonish, but Eric had already lowered his mouth to Alan's and the glass-maker's scolding got drowned out by the sound of clapping, cheering and hooting. He sighed and gave up, joining in the clapping with a smile as the newlywed lovers shared a deep, loving kiss to seal the bond. Reaper weddings were so simple compared to mortal ones; the celebration took longer than the exchange of vows and the bonding itself.

"Alan," murmured Eric huskily when they broke the kiss. He could feel the bond between them grow stronger and he held him close, pressing his forehead against Alan's and smiling. The connection was true. They were now a mated pair, just as he'd known they were destined to be since before they even shared their first kiss. He laughed softly and he kissed Alan again, realizing that not only could he feel his partner's spirit energy joining with his, but he could feel their child, as well. He slid one hand around from Alan's back to his front, resting it over his abdomen to feel the baby kick.

"I love ya both so much," whispered the Scotsman.

"I love you, too. As does this child of ours, I'm sure." Alan whispered, pulling his husband into another kiss. His heart was fluttering wildly, and he felt light enough to fly as their bond grew, their souls exchanging a small piece of themselves.

Seconds later, flower petals were in the air around them as their guests tossed them in the air. They savored the moment with each other and their friends, until Eric detected a shiver from his new spouse and decided it wasn't good for them to remain out in the chill sea breeze for much longer. Lovely as the setting was, they still had packing to take care of and he while reapers weren't susceptible to colds or flu, he could hear someone's teeth chattering and he didn't want the mother of his child staying out in the cold.

"Wull, I guess we'd better get our arses back inside where it's warm and get back tae packing," he sighed. He rubbed Alan's back before releasing him and smiling at their guests. "Thank all of yeh again. It meant a lo' tae both of us."

"Of course, lad." Lawrence inclined his head. "I shall put these torches and candles out while everyone goes back. I wonder if we should gather them back up and store them."

"Leave 'em," Undertaker suggested with a smirk. "Let those wankers find them when they come 'round looking for us. I want them t' know we were here and we slipped from their grasp again."

"You've got quite a vindictive side, my friend," sighed Lawrence. "Very well, I suppose we have larger things to worry about right now."

The small gathering dispersed and they all went back up the path to the resort together, each of them bidding silent farewell to the place they'd been calling home.

* * *

-To be continued


	22. Chapter 22

The trees were thick, surrounding a large clearing that the scouts had located before they opened the portals for the rest of their group of refugees and wanted reapers to come through. Snow was in the air and starting to stick to the ground and branches, though it wasn't bitterly cold out. A few reapers set down their things and set to building camp fires while others helped bring community luggage over. It was clear that the first order of business would be to construct their shelters. It was early morning, and they had all day to work, but it'd still be slow as many didn't know how and they needed to be taught.

Alan shivered, standing near the fire with the children of the group and a few other expecting reapers as the others hurried around to make sure everything had been brought over.

Before they all left, they had all purchased winter clothes, which had turned out to be a good investment as winter was fast approaching and already showing signs of its arrival.

While his spouse tried to keep warm and others began to erect temporary shelters, Eric took a group deeper into the forest to gather dead wood for kindling and mark a few trees to use for lumber. Fabian was out seeking out potential fishing spots and the Undertaker was overseeing the setup of the lab and the medical equipment. William and Ronald were taking care of the storage of the ammunition, while Alex set up a spot to use his computer and keep an eye on Dispatch transmissions. Grell and another group were busy taking bedding and blankets out of crates to set them up inside the shelters as they were set up.

It seemed to be coming along well despite the lack of outdoor experience most of them had. There were just enough reapers in their group with knowledge of such things to direct the others, and since the plan was to avoid remaining in one place for more than a few days and keep heading northwest, they only unpacked the necessities to keep everyone healthy, fed and warm. Most of everyone's personal belongings were kept together in their trunks, stacked on covered wagons. Each reaper had a smaller trunk of personal necessities and changes of clothing to keep in whichever shelter they would be sleeping in, and the camp had five donkeys to pull the supply carts from location to location.

"I never realized how difficult it would be to move so many of us and keep us all together," William mused with a grunt as he handed another box of ammo down the assembly line. Their community didn't even have very much in the way of possessions or supplies, but organizing the transport of those and keeping up with the children had proven a daunting task.

"It's also going to be harder to practice shooting out here." Ron sighed, "Those who have taken up guns have been improving greatly, but some still need work." he heaved a heavy crate of guns up onto the wagon they were keeping their battle gear on. They wanted it to all be together and easy to find when the time came to strike back.

"We shall discuss it and find some solution," assured William. He took up another crate and he passed it on. "Surely we can devise some form of practice targets and find an ideal place away from camp for them to practice. Awareness is key and so long as the parents and guardians in this community make sure the little ones don't wander into the shooting range, it should be fine."

"Maybe I'll go out scouting tomorrow for a place to do that." Ron suggested, "And uh...I'll take someone like Eric so I won't get lost." he added as an afterthought. It'd be just like him to get turned around in these large, thick wooded areas.

As if summoned by Ronald's comment, Eric came back with his group and they began to stack the firewood they had collected. When he finished unloading his armload, he went to the fire in the center of camp to warm up a bit. He drew Alan closer with one arm and he kissed him on the cheek. "Stayin' warm enough, sweetheart?"

"Trying to." Alan smiled, gazing into his husband's eyes with a smile, "More-so now with you here, my love."

Eric smiled back, and then he heaved a regretful sigh and rubbed the smaller reaper's back. "Wish I could stay here an' share body heat wi' ya, but I've go' tae string mah bow and make up some arrows."

Alex overheard from his seat on a stump and he looked up from his computer with a perplexed expression. "A bow and arrow? Wouldn't it be easier to hunt with your gun?"

Eric shrugged. "I always used rifles or bows...or spears, sometimes. I could try using tha pistol but we've only go' so much o' tha regular ammo an' even less of tha reaping ammo. We need both tae defend ourselves an' keep practicing. Besides, I've only been shooting wi' tha new handguns since they started issuing 'em at Dispatch. Never tried hunting anything wi' one of 'em so it's best I stick wi' wha' I know if I'm tae bring anything down."

Alex shrugged, knowing nothing of hunting or trapping himself beyond things he'd read over the internet. "You're the expert. We did bring some meat with us, though."

"It won't last wi' so many mouths tae feed," Eric pointed out, "No' every hunting trip is successful, either. I might try fer days before I actually make a kill...especially in territory I dun' know yet."

Alexander sighed. "I hope Fabian has better luck with the fish, then."

"I hope they both have luck. This baby keeps me hungry." Alan said, pulling his coat tighter around himself, "And I don't know what is available for gathering this time of year."

"Undertaker should have tha' covered," answered Eric. "Dun' worry; between all of us we'll scrounge up enough food tae—"

A woman moaned suddenly, cutting off his comment. She was one of the expecting reapers standing around the fire, and as they looked at her, she clutched her swollen belly and she sucked in sharp breaths.

"They're...they're getting closer," she said to Jenna as the medic hurried to her side to see what was wrong. "I think the baby's going to come today!"

Eric's eyes widened and for all his reassurances concerning hunting, he started losing his cool fast. "Shite, get her in one o' tha shelters quick! Undertaker, where are yeh at?"

Alan's eyes widened. He'd gotten to know the other expecting reapers, and knew that she was days from her due date, but seeing her start to react like this reminded him that he'd soon also be in the same boat. He hoped all would go well for her and her baby... that all would go well for his baby and himself, as well when the time came.

"Undertaker's in that tent." He pointed across the way to a tent that had been set up between three strong trees that would help protect it from any wind and some rain. "It's the medical and lab tent."

Eric ran to go and get him while Jenna and her associate Kyle helped the woman into the tent that had been set up for her and her husband. The husband himself was out at the moment with Fabian Olson, looking for a good place to fish. Undertaker came out of the lab tent with Eric a moment later and he followed him to the one they'd put Nicole in. He checked on her, advised the medics and came back out to speak with Eric and Alan.

"It's going to be a while. She just started having contractions this morning when we left and they're still a ways apart. She needs to try and walk around a little now and then to ease it along. It would probably be best if her husband was here by her side."

Eric nodded. "I could track him down an' bring him back."

The Undertaker nodded. "Good. Not much else we can do for her, 'cept keep her comfy 'till it's time for her to start pushing. Alan, if you want to help her, go fetch a bowl of water and a cloth. It might be chilly out right now but labor tends to heat the body up. Dabbing her face with a cool, wet cloth will bring her a little relief."

The mortician spotted Grell coming out of another tent and he saw the pained look on his face when the redhead heard the woman's moan from her tent.

"'Scuse me, lads."

Undertaker went to be at his lover's side, empathizing with the haunted look in his eyes.

Alan frowned. They had some supply of water they had brought with them for drinking and cooking, but not much as water was heavy. Maybe getting the water from a stream or pond would be best, and as the woman's husband had been helping to scout for fishing spots, they could find him near a body of water.

He hurried to grab a bowl from their supplies and then rushed to join Eric before he was out of sight, "I'm coming with you."

* * *

Grell covered his ears; sitting huddled on the pile of bedding in the corner of his and Undertaker's tent.

"Stop it, Grell." he scolded himself in a whisper, "Stop it! You can't lose it now! And don't dare lose it when you hear the baby cry..." Tears formed in his eyes.

Undertaker ducked into the tent, and he closed the flap behind him before approaching and squatting down before Grell. He reached out to brush the pads of his thumbs under the redhead's eyes, retracting his nails as he did so in order not to poke him accidentally. He parted his pale lips to attempt some form of verbal comfort, but everything that came to mind seemed hollow and useless to him. The mortician tilted his head to the side so that his bangs fell away from his eyes and he simply watched his lover with quietly supportive eyes.

"Come here, love," he finally whispered, taking a seat on the bedding with him. He drew Grell into his embrace.

"I know..." Grell choked, hugging himself into Undertaker's arms, "I know I promised to be strong but...hearing that is too much right now...Unnie..."

The Undertaker brushed his lips against the distraught redhead's brow and his mind spun for solutions. He perked up a little after a moment and he gave Grell a squeeze. "Come foraging with me, then. That babe won't crown for hours and our medics have improved quite a bit."

He cupped Grell's chin to tilt his face up, and he kissed away the tears. "We can bugger off from the camp for a bit and gather things we'll need. I know you're not one for botany, but it'll get us away from those sounds for a while. I could show you what berries and nuts to look for and I'll take care of the herbs. What do you think, darlin? Take a walk in the woods with a madman for a bit?"

Grell let out a slow breath and nodded, "That may help." He let Undertaker help him to his feet. "Yes, Fresh air and silence should help me get my head back in the right place."

The Undertaker put an arm around Grell and he held him close, deliberately drawing his robes around the smaller reaper to help muffle the sounds of the expectant mother's cries. "Be back in a li'l while," he called to their fellows. "The lady and I are taking a walk and doing a bit of gathering. You've got things well under control."

Nobody disputed him—either because they were too afraid to or because they were too excited over the impending new birth. Undertaker guided his lover away from the camp to the east, keeping a sharp eye out for any flora that could be used to their advantage. The snow began to fall more heavily and he draped the cloak he'd thought to snitch from their belongings over his lover's shoulders. He tugged the hood down low and he smiled at Grell.

"There now...all comfy and safe from the flakes. It's better out here, isn't it? No cries, just the forest. Would you...like me to show you some pictures of what we need, m'dear?"

He was so terrible at this. He knew it. Regardless of the pitiful efforts on his part, the Undertaker at least knew he did right by getting Grell out of the camp for a while.

Grell nodded, "You'll have to... I don't know much about plants. I may end up poisoning us all. Alan really would be a better choice for this chore," he said, trying to keep his mind distracted. He sighed, pulling the layers around him as he looked out over the showy land, "Won't they all be dead for the winter, though?"

"Oh, not at all," explained the Undertaker, glad for a distraction. "Y' see Grell, some things only grow in the fall and winter...and some things grow all year round, too! It's just a matter of knowing where to find those things. I'll show you exactly what berries and nuts we can safely use and then while you're gathering those, I'll get the herbs."

The mortician bent over to kiss the tip of Grell's nose. "Easy, peasy."

Grell nodded, "Everything's white... did you grab gloves so we can dig without frozen fingers?" he asked, sure that everything was under the snow.

"Of course, love." Undertaker dug through the pockets of his thick winter robes and he offered his own pair to Grell. "The cold doesn't trouble me overly, so you can just use mine. I've got a li'l pack with some gardening tools I can use to gather my herbs with. Here...take this to collect what you forage." He poked the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he dug through the satchel around his waist and located the other one folded up inside of it. "Just tie it 'round your waist and drop whatever you find inside of it. Makes it easier to gather hands-free."

Grell pulled the dark gray gloves over his hands and rubbed them together as he gazed up at his lover. "Maybe one day you and I could not get so emotional over little reminders," he muttered gently. He then stretched to plant a kiss on the man's lips before pulling back. "Now, what am I looking for?" he asked, attaching the bag to his side.

Undertaker dug out a small book with illustrations and details concerning various wild plants. "Keep an eye out for these berries," he explained softly. "They ought to be in season 'round this part of the world right now. Be careful not to mistake them for these other ones here; those are poisonous. You can tell the difference by the shape of the leaves on the bush. We should find plenty of nuts on the ground and in the trees, I imagine."

He led them deeper into the forest and he checked his direction. Spotting one of the wild medicinal herbs he wanted, the mortician chirped in delight and went to collect some of the leaves. "Cultivating them takes away the challenge, I s'pose," he said conversationally to Grell as he trimmed a sample off. "I've gotten a bit rusty and started taking it for granted that everything doesn't have a season."

He kept chatting about the different sorts of plants one could find depending on the climate, location and time of year...though he knew that Grell really didn't care. The Undertaker's chattering served as a distraction for both of them more than a lesson plan.

* * *

"Man, it's enough to make a guy never forget proper protection again!" Ronald said as he entered his and William's small tent, closing the flap behind him, though it did nothing to muffle the sound of the birthing woman's cries and heavy breathing, "Sounds super painful. Anyway, finished my work for the day, at last."

He sat down on the small trunk that held their necessities so he could kick off his shoes and slip into the warm extra pajamas that William was lending him while they were staying in the frozen woods. He then quickly crawled onto the bed they had set up for themselves and slipped into the large sleeping bag to keep warm next to William—who was already occupying it; a book in one hand, and a flashlight in the other.

"I'm ready for warm boyfriend time."

William put aside the book and turned off the flashlight, in silent agreement with the statement. It was still early—the sun hadn't even set outside yet—but they were both exhausted from the grueling day. He put his arms around the younger reaper and he drew him close. "I may have some ear plugs in the trunk, if we need it." He kissed Ronald softly on the lips, of a similar mind concerning the pained sounds their campmate was making. It certainly put into perspective the risks they would be taking if they made love, and yet he couldn't help but respond to Ronald's proximity.

William sighed as the evidence of his seemingly unquenchable desire pressed against Ronald's thigh. "I apologize," he murmured, knowing his lover could feel it. "I have no control over these things, apparently."

"No, no...it's nice." Ron grinned, squeezing up against him, "Little Willy is just honest and it's nice to feel that I haven't lost my touch with the man I love." The blond whispered against the older reaper's skin.

William stroked his back in a slow, sensual glide. "It just seems...rude. Under the circumstances, it feels entirely inappropriate to be...poking you this way." He nuzzled Ronald's ear and he dropped his voice to a whisper. "And worry not over your appeal, Ronald. You have this effect on me regardless of any situation."

"What situation? Being cold? Will, they say sharing body heat is the best way to survive the cold." Ron winked. "What better way than poking?"

In spite of himself, William chuckled. "Body heat is perfectly fine. It's what the contact is doing to me that I find objectionable." He brushed his lips over Ronald's softly, and he traced his lips with his tongue. "Mmm...far too tempting."

Another moan of distress came from the tent where the laboring woman was at, and William grimaced. He hadn't put much thought into the possibility of he and Ronald eventually becoming parents, but it could be inevitable. He wouldn't mind having a family with him some day in the future...just not while things were so chaotic. His body wasn't quite agreeing with him and he mentally counted how many of those special pills they had left. They weren't likely to get more of them anytime soon, so they needed to be sparing with their encounters when it came to intercourse.

There were other ways to make love, however. He didn't have to end up inside of his lover, after all. With that in mind, William devised a plan to distract them both from the birthing event occurring in their camp that they'd both find agreeable. He slid his hand lower to cup Ronald's bottom and he deepened his kiss.

"I'm enchanted with you," he admitted in a husky murmur, letting his hand glide around to the front of Ronald's hips. He teasingly caressed the waistline of Ronald's pajama pants, his intentions not quite subtle.

"Enchanted, huh?" Ronald asked, rolling atop William and sliding his hands along the man's sides as he kissed his neck, "Didn't know I was a wizard. Lets hope my spell lasts," he joked before wiggling down under the covers and pressing kisses to Will's chest and belly through his shirt.

William sighed with delight, closing his eyes and stroking Ron's hair with one hand. The other began to burrow into his pajama bottoms, seeking out the source of the growing tent in Ronald's crotch. Truthfully, he could think of no better distraction from what was happening than some physical intimacy. He curled his hand around his lover's erection when his hands located the shaft and he gave it a stroke.

"Mmm, I think your spell has me trapped most favorably," purred William. He looked down at Ronald's head as the blond kissed his chest, and he swallowed. He was still learning to express himself and it was still difficult for him at times. "If I'm to be under a spell, I'd rather it not end."

"Maybe it won't if you keep playing with my magic wand..." Ronald moaned, closing his eyes. Then, he gave a little chuckle, "You know...I thought I'd be the one to crack first and start something with you out here in the woods. I didn't expect you to do it first."

William continued to steadily stroke him off, his breath quickening with his desire. "What can I say? You bring out the worst in me."

Although he couldn't precisely say it was his worst. He could think of much worse things he could be doing than pleasuring his boyfriend, and he certainly didn't mind fondling Ronald this way. Quite the opposite. Every little gasp and moan was gratifying to him, spurring him on. It was a very pleasant alternative to listening to the cries from the laboring woman on the other side of the encampment.

"How awful of me. Whatever will you do?" Ronald smirked. His lips found Will's neck again and began to suck, his hands sliding under Will's shirt to run his fingers over his abs and pecs. "Punish me?" he smirked and pulled back, leaving behind a small love bite on William's neck.

"I imagine you might enjoy that." William smirked in the dimness, stroking him a bit faster. He groaned as Ronald's thigh brushed against the swelling in the crotch of his pajama pants, and he rolled his hips to amplify the friction. "I suppose if I'm going to punish you, I must be creative about it."

He _almost_ considered smacking the blond on the ass, but he didn't want anyone in camp to hear the sound of his palm striking flesh and guessing what sort of kinky business they were up to. Low sounds of passion from a couple were an acceptable and expected thing to hear once they retired to their shelter for the night together, but spanking? He could just imagine the rumors that would spread like wildfire, and William was still a modest reaper. There were other ways to "punish" Ronald, if he truly wanted to play that game.

The blond's panting grew heavier, coating his words with desire, "N-never said I wouldn't... but how... do you plan to, Will? Mmmhnn..." He rolled his hips and slid his hands back down, dipping under Will's pants to tease at his stiff member.

William checked a moan at the sensation of his lover's hand fondling him. "Wouldn't you like to know? Consider it a mystery, until I am ready to administer it."

A crooked smile graced his lips, and he was sure that Knox would likely prefer a spanking over what he was planning to do. Not all punishments had to involve pain. Frustration, however...yes. That seemed a fitting price for Ronald to pay for all those times he'd teased him with his nude body before they finally slept together. He said nothing of this, though. Instead, he concentrated on pleasuring the young man, driving him to just the right state of arousal and need to suit his desires.

"Ohh-just smack my ass already!" Ron pouted through his moan, "I want it, Will."

His hand ventured further down to fondle the man's balls. "Please? No one will hear..."

William shuddered at the touch, clenching his jaw. Perhaps just one smack...

He gripped the base of Ronald's cock as he yanked the blond's pants down in the back to expose his ass. His palm cracked smartly against the left cheek, leaving a white mark that rapidly blushed to pink in the form of a handprint. He smirked as Ronald moaned wantonly and he felt his erection twitch in his hand. Still gripping the shaft firmly, William moved the hand that had slapped Ron's bum around front to rub the tip of his lover's swollen arousal with the fingertips.

"Naughty creature," husked Will.

"Mmmhm," Ronald agreed, "But I'm your naughty creature!" he wiggled in order to rub against Will's body.

William's breath caught and he wondered how long he could continue this play before he lost control of his passion and ended up doing something that would require Ronald to use one of those precious pills they had such a limited number of. How many were left now...six? Gods, he wanted to pound Ronald senseless. He clenched his teeth, determined to make them last. Once those pills were gone they would have to abstain until they either managed to make a connection for more from the few people they could trust on the other side, or win back London Dispatch. He stroked one hand up and down Ronald's length while still keeping a firm grip on the base of it with the other.

"You could tempt a saint into sinning," he breathed.

"Flatterer." Ronald tried to grin but his moaning ruined the cocky look, "But I don't want a saint. I want you, rough and dirty. Ohh-Rhea... good..."

William felt a growl of carnal need rising in his throat, but he maintained control of himself and kept going. He humped Ronald's stroking hand, getting closer to his own release with each passing moment. He slicked the pad of his thumb over the bead of dew that had formed on the tip of his lover's sex, stroking the sensitive slit to send little shocks of pleasure through him. He wanted to hear him beg for it...wanted him writhing helplessly on top of him before he would pin him down and finish him off.

Ronald muffled his moans against his lover's lips as his body heated up and twitched with his attempts at holding out. His hips rolling greedily. "Will... just a... just a little more... faster... close..!" he gasped.

William obliged him, speeding up his strokes and kissing Ronald deeply. Yes...he was very close too. His chest rose and fell rapidly with his pleasure and he thrust eagerly into Ronald's grip, feeling his balls tightening up. Just a few more strokes...

William couldn't hold back his groan as he started to buck in Ronald's hand, and he made a mess as he found his release. He wanted to give his lover the same satisfaction, but not until he heard him beg for it.

"You-already...Mmm..." not caring that his hand was a mess, Ronald gripped Will's hip with shaky fingers, "So close, Will! Please..."

That was exactly what William wanted to hear. He released Ronald's throbbing length and he cupped his hips to lift him a bit so that he could roll over with him, pinning him to the bedding. "Shh, behave," he demanded when the blond squirmed beneath him restlessly. He slid down Ronald's flushed, gasping form to slide his lips over the blond's arousal, tonguing the salty hole in the tip before taking him deep into his mouth. He kept his hands on his hips to prevent Ronald from bucking into his mouth and he hummed as he began to suck him off.

"Oh Gods..." Ronald closed his eyes, gripping the thin sheet under them as his lips parted and he let out another moan, only this time it held a higher pitch. He was already so close and the wet lips sliding over his now wet arousal was just too much. "Will! PLEASE!" he cried out, unable to buck his hips.

William sucked harder and bobbed his head faster, Ronald's length butting against the back of his throat with each stroke of his mouth. "Mmm." His fingers dug into the blond's hips and his tongue stroked the taut flesh as he worked his mouth up and down the length. He didn't even care who heard the noise of their activity—though he suspected that the laboring female's moans of distress probably drowned out the sounds of their pleasure.

"Will…my _GODS_!" Ronald cried out, body trembling as finally, he reached release deep in his lover's throat.

William swallowed the salty result of Ronald's climax and he smirked in satisfaction as he let his softening length slide out of his mouth. He squirmed back up so that he was level with his partner, and he covered them both up before pulling him into his arms. "I adore making you cry out like that," he confessed, stroking Ron's hair back from his sweat-beaded forehead. The perspiration was the final proof that he'd done a good job, considering the chill in the air. Of course, Ronald had been magnificent himself, as always.

"I adore you making me." Ronald smiled, sliding his arms around William, ignoring the wet mess from William's release. "Bonus that it makes our bed warmer," he added as a side-note.

William sighed in contentment that he knew would not last. Each day of travel was going to be difficult on everyone, and at the end of their journey lay an uncertain fate. He tried not to think of what may happen to them all when the time came to finally strike back at the organization that had taken over Dispatch and forced them into exile. They'd finished taking inventory and unloading, but there was still much to do...and their numbers were increasing. He wondered how they were going to manage with little ones on the way and only a limited number of fighters...but then he recalled the Undertaker's formidable army.

William snuggled closer to Ronald and he took comfort in that. Much as he disapproved the mortician's morbid experiments, the bizarre dolls were probably their only hope.

* * *

Unaware that he was in William's thoughts, the Undertaker finished up gathering the herbs he needed along with some for cooking, and he looked at his busy lover. Grell was in the process of gathering more of the berries he'd pointed out to him earlier. The sun had just set and it was getting too dark and cold for them to be out alone. He could hear wolves howling in the distance and while he knew the animals weren't likely to attack reapers, he didn't want to take chances. He could certainly handle the creatures if they came upon them and got aggressive and so could Grell, but truth be told, the mortician had a fondness for wolves and he would rather not have to kill any of them in self-defense or otherwise.

"We should be getting back to the encampment," he informed Grell with some regret. He knew that it was going to be difficult on Grell in particular to go back there and bear witness to the birth of a new baby, but short of grabbing something to build their own little shelter away from camp, there was no help for it. He might also be needed to help bring the nipper into the world, as well.

With a sigh, Grell nodded and stood back up, "Yeah... probably should." He turned a smile on for his lover as he looked up at the silver reaper, "Thank you for getting me away for as long as we could. I do feel better, Unnie-bunny." he cooed, trying out a new pet name as he slipped closer to him.

The mortician snickered with amusement and draped an arm around Grell's waist. He bent over a little to kiss the redhead on the ear, and he huffed on it to warm it a bit when he felt how chilled it was against his lips. " _'Unnie-bunny'_ , eh? I think I like that."

He began to retrace their steps back to the encampment. The snowfall was still light, but enough had fallen to cover up most of their footsteps as they got closer to the encampment. It wasn't a worry for the Undertaker, though. He'd memorized the path they took and he was familiar with foraging for wild plants for his trade. As the sounds of the laboring woman grew louder in the darkness, he sighed and glanced helplessly at his lover.

As they stepped back into camp, the mortician ushered Grell to their personal tent as quickly as he could. He didn't notice the thoughtful way Alex watched him and Grell as he ducked inside with his lover and removed the filled pouch from around Grell's waist. "Here, love. I'll get these washed up and stored for breakfast tomorrow, and then I'll bring you a bite to eat. I think I smelled roasting meat when we came in. Just try to relax and take your mind off the ruckus."

He kissed Grell on the cheek and hurried back out to take care of his task, eager to keep Grell occupied so that he wouldn't have to see tears in those eyes again. He really couldn't bear seeing Grell cry.

Jeffries watched the ancient glide past him to the cooking tent, and he looked down at his computer bag thoughtfully, before producing a pair of headphones and a media device from it. Biting his lip, he set his laptop aside on the blanket he was sitting on beneath the community tarp shelter, trusting that nobody would fool with it, and he went to Grell and Undertaker's tent.

"Excuse me...Miss Sutcliff?" Alex called, tugging aside the tent flap. "Mind if I come in for a sec? It'll only take a minute and then I'll be out of your way."

Grell was in the process of unwinding his long red scarf from his neck when his attention was caught and he looked back over his shoulder, blinking at the young man. The boy was from London, he knew that. And he was from Ronald's generation... or was it the one after? Truthfully, Grell never paid the awkward young man any mind when they were at Dispatch together, and even now on the run, he'd hardly talked with him.

He knew that Alan had gotten closer to the boy and had become fond of him. Fond enough to have invited him to the wedding. And the young man had helped to support he and Undertaker when they had lost their child. If that didn't earn him a few moments of his time, then nothing would.

The redhead gave a small nod. "...Jefferson, is it? Or something like that? Sorry, I think I got that wrong, now that I have said it." He shook his head. "Forgive me... I'm a bit distracted this evening. Alex! That one seems right, right? Boy, I was really off."

Alex shrugged, lowering his gaze with his customary smile. "That's all right. I don't think many people around here remember my name, but you got the first name right. It's Jeffries, Miss Sutcliff...Alexander Jeffries...but I like to be called Alex. Look I um...I know what's bothering you, and I thought maybe this might help a little."

He offered the device in his hand and the headphones that came with them. "It's my music player," he explained, "and these are noise reduction earphones, so they'll help keep outside sounds muffled. I listen to it when I'm programming to help keep me focused, but you can borrow it for a while. See, it's real easy to operate. You just push this button to bring up the music list, pick what you want and hit play. Volume control's on the side here. I've got a pretty big selection so you're bound to find something you like."

People might accuse Alex of being a space cadet most of the time, but he was way more observant than he was given credit for. He was one of the first to realize what was going on at Dispatch and get out while he could, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Grell was suffering emotional distress over the impeding birth in the camp.

Grell looked down and blinked at the headphones being offered to him, and then he moved quickly, hugging the boy tight and nearly lifting him right off his feet, "Thank you." he whispered, "You have no idea how...thank you..."

A little embarrassed and more than a bit worried over how the Undertaker might see it if he saw his lover hugging him, Alex blushed and patted Grell. He nearly said: "Aw, shucks" but he retained enough brain power to give a less ditzy response. "No worries, Miss Sutcliff. I hope they help."

He smiled and stepped back from the crimson reaper shyly, tugging his earlobe in an absent gesture. "Keep it as long as you need it, okay? I'd uh...better get something to eat and get back to monitoring the systems. G'night!"

With that said, Alexander Jeffries took off before the Undertaker could make it back to the tent, and he dearly hoped the man wouldn't be offended by his offering.

* * *

As it turned out, the Undertaker's reaction to Alex's gift was quite the opposite of what the boy feared. He recognized the music player as soon as he stepped into the tent with two steaming bowls of food and saw his lover listening to it with eyes closed. He smiled a bit and he nodded in approval, tossing aside his plans to create earplugs for him. He quietly approached Grell and he tapped him gently on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Stew," he informed when Grell opened his eyes to look at him. "No, don't worry about taking them off, love. Just eat and enjoy it." He enunciated his words carefully so that Grell could read his lips, even if he couldn't hear his voice. He'd added a few additional seasonings to their meal to flavor it better, and he produced a couple of pieces of wrapped up bread from his robes to help compliment the meal.

Grell waited for his lover to sit down before sliding closer. He didn't say anything, he didn't have to. The music was helping, and enjoying the meal with Undertaker while he could was enough to distract his mind from what he knew was happening. Undertaker may have to go help, but for now, he was there at his side. Grell smiled, taking his stew and a spoon as he relaxed.

The Undertaker ate with a hearty appetite, a bit surprised to find he was much hungrier than he'd thought, once he had his first bite of the meal. He finished his bowl of stew off quickly and he used the bread to soak up what remained and eat that too. He glanced at his lover and he gestured at his bowl, speaking slowly so that Grell could see the words forming on his lips.

"I'm going for another helping," said the mortician. "More for you, love?"

Grell shook his head. He ate slower and still had a good portion in his bowl and half his bread. "Maybe just some more bread." he said a little too loudly as he forgot that only he could hear the music in his ears.

Undertaker jumped a bit at the unintentional shout, and then he laughed. He cupped Grell's face in his hands and he leaned in for a quick kiss on the lips. "What the lady wants, the lady gets," he promised, and then he released his lover and he got to his feet to visit the cooking tent again for more. On his way there he heard one of the medics instructing the laboring female to push, and he lowered his bright gaze to his empty bowl. Had things gone better, he would likely be at Grell's side right now giving him the same encouragement. He shook his bangs out of his eyes and he looked around for the woman's husband. Slingby and his partner hadn't yet returned with the man, and the birth seemed to be progressing quickly.

"Hurry it up, mate," advised the ancient in a whisper. "It would be a pity to miss the birth of your own nipper."

* * *

As fate would have it, Eric was still tracking Fabian and the father of the laboring woman's child through the woods. The community link shared between them all helped, but navigating the snowy landscape put a significant crimp on time management. The Scotsman tested each path with a stick first to make sure there were no hidden pits buried beneath the snowfall for him or Alan to trip over, and he insisted on walking ahead of Alan to test the path before allowing the smaller reaper to follow behind him. He wasn't exactly thrilled to have the pregnant reaper on this task with him, but Eric couldn't say 'no' to Alan after he'd insisted on coming.

Just as they neared the sound of the rushing stream, Eric held a hand out to stop his spouse and he frowned. "Wait. Somethin's no' right."

Alan paused, breathing into the warm scarf Eric had wrapped around him to help keep him warm. His hands were encased in a pair of fluffy mittens, holding the scarf over his nose. He'd joined Eric in order to gather more fresh water from the stream, but the stream seemed further away than they had thought. And when the snow started falling heavier and started gathering deep on the ground, he knew it'd be easier to use the snow for water, just warm it over the fire. But by then he and Eric were too far out for him to turn back alone.

"What is it?" he asked, shivering as the wind blew a chunk of show off the branches overhead and it landed on his shoulder.

Eric cocked his head uncertainly, listening with all his senses. "I'm no' sure," he admitted. He then heard the howl of a wolf pack closing in, and he paled. Not that the animals could do fatal damage to any reaper per say, but his spouse was expecting and therefore more vulnerable. "Alan…quick. Come o'er tae this tree."

Eric squatted at the trunk of the expansive conifer and he looked up to gauge the distance between the first level of branches and the ground. He linked his gloved fingers together to give the smaller reaper a foothold so that he could give him a boost. "Grab onto tha' branch up there an' climb onto it when I boost yeh up."

"That-is easier said than done!" Alan deadpanned, eyes wide as he looked up. If his belly was still flat, he'd have no problem with it, but the unborn baby was too big and he could harm him or her trying to hoist himself up onto a branch.

The brunet shook his head, "I can't do it, Eric. Not without harming the baby."

Eric swore softly in frustration and he got back to his feet. He took hold of his partner's hand to pull the smaller reaper behind him, putting the tree to Alan's back and himself at his front. "I'll try tae scare 'em off, then. If they start boxing us in, I'll clear a path an' keep 'em focused on me while ya run back tae camp. Remember tha way back?"

He started digging through his pockets in the hopes of finding his lighter. He hadn't enjoyed a clove since he ran out of them after defecting from Dispatch, but he still kept his lighters out of habit. That habit now proved quite useful. He located the lighter he'd been keeping on him in one of his pockets and he unbuttoned his coat to yank it off. "Hold this," he ordered his smaller companion, handing over the garment. Once Alan took the coat, Eric pulled his sweater off over his head and he snatched up a branch of deadwood and started snapping off the twigs. He wrapped his sweater around it and he got his coat back from Alan to cover his now bare upper body. One thing was universal when it came to wolves, regardless of location. They were afraid of fire.

"This won't burn long wi'out some kind o' fuel," explained the Scotsman as he lit up the material on the improvised torch, "but it'll make 'em back off…maybe even scare 'em off." He could already see the glittering eyes approaching as his sweater caught fire, the glow of the flames reflecting on hungry canine eyes. Wolf packs typically avoided humans and reapers, but with the winter came hunger…and desperation. They were in the animals' territory and the wolves might just be bold enough to try and attack them.

Eric swung the torch in a wide arc to keep the animals at bay, and it occurred to him that they were close enough to the stream for Agent Olson and his companion to hear if they called out to him. Eric started bellowing at the top of his lungs. "Olson! Fabian, can ya hear me? Alan an' I could use some help!"

Alan bit his lip, eyeing the wolves-who were eyeing him and his enlarged, tempting belly. The brunet shivered and hugged his middle and glared as if to say 'don't even think about it'. But the wolves were not evil. They were not demons. They were just animals looking to survive, and Alan didn't wish to see them hurt if they could help it.

But then again, he didn't want to lose his baby. Even if he was attacked, he'd survive, but the unborn baby wouldn't. Reapers didn't develop their ability to heal and survive most things until they were a few years old and their bodies were strong enough to handle using the amount of energy it took to heal like gods. As babies they were as vulnerable as humans. And if it came down to it, he would fight back to his fullest to protect his and Eric's baby.

"Eric..." he whispered huskily, thinking of another trick that could be helpful-if Eric knew how to do it. Reapers had many powers and abilities that they could learn, but the fact was that they had to learn them and not many reapers liked to spend the time on abilities. He knew Grell knew one. The ability to alter his appearance. And he knew that the Undertaker knew a good number of abilities... but Eric, he wasn't sure about. He himself had started to learn some back before he'd had to run away, and he had yet to perfect any of them. There was one he'd been learning that would be helpful, but it'd take a lot of energy as he had yet to master it.

"Eric, do you know how to amplify your death's aura?" he asked, "It may help scare them off."

Eric had reacted out of survival impulses by thinking of fire as the first line of defense. He now had his death scythe manifested in his free hand, ready to use it against the beasts if they got too close. Upon hearing his spouse's suggestion though, he hesitated. He'd been about to tell Alan to break communication silence and try to contact help with his cell phone, but the smaller reaper's idea was worth a shot. If there was even a tiny chance that the enemy might have a means to pick up their call frequency and use it to track them, it was best not to risk it. That was why the council declared further use of reaper-made phones forbidden except for in the most dire of emergencies, once they decided to flee Greece.

He could sense Fabian and Mr. Tiller getting closer, but he didn't know if they could make it in time.

"Aye, I'll try tha'," Eric agreed, and he focused inwardly to expand and amplify his death aura. It filled him with a dark, rolling energy that left a sour taste in the back of his throat and made the hair on his arms stand on end, but he kept going when he saw the big wolf leading the pack pause and whine in confusion.

"Tha's right, pup," he growled. "We're no' tha sort of meal ya want tae be trying tae swallow. Get gone!"

He roared the last part of the sentence and he swung his flaming brand in another wide arc, using the animal's instinctive fear of fire in conjunction with the aura of death he'd extended. The alpha male snarled and backed off, and his pack joined him.

Eric stood his ground until they were all fleeing into the woods, and then he deflated with relief. He turned and smiled at Alan, grateful for his quick thinking.

"Tha' was a really good idea, lover. I-"

His sentence got cut off by the familiar voice shouting for him, and Fabian Olson came charging through the frozen undergrowth with his fishing companion close at his heels.

"What is it?" Demanded the tall blond Dane. "Are either of you injured?"

Alan let out a breath, pressing his mittened hand to his chest. "Thankfully, no." he reassured the two men, "We ran into a pack of hungry wolves, but Eric managed to scare them off."

He shook his head, letting his speeding heart settle down before he was reminded as to why they came out this way to begin with. "But more importantly, Mister Tiller, your wife has gone into labor. Hopefully you can make it back in time before the baby comes."

Tiller looked both thrilled and nervous about the news. "Oh dear…I'd best get back as quickly as I can!" He adjusted his flashlight and he started off toward the encampment.

"Wait," Fabian called, and he went after him. "Don't travel this forest alone…you'll get lost!"

"We should head back now too," suggested Eric, feeling the cold now that the danger was over. He extinguished his sputtering, improvised torch and he put an arm around Alan. He'd managed to waste a perfectly good sweater thanks to his failure to come up with a better idea, and he had a limited wardrobe. Too bad Alan hadn't come up with his brilliant plan before Eric torched his top.

Alan nodded in agreement, not wanting to run into wolves again. "Did you two manage to catch any fish that needs to be carried back to the camp?" he asked before he'd let Eric start leading him away. "Eric and I can assist as your fishing partner is in a bit of a rush."

"There is a string full of catches on the banks of the stream," called Olson over his shoulder. "It would be of great help if you could collect it and bring it back with you."

Eric nodded and he changed the direction of his footsteps. "Leave it tae us. We'll be right behind ya."

He hurried to the stream with Alan, pushing aside any undergrowth for his husband that might hinder Alan. After fetching the catch that their camp mates had abandoned, the couple made their way back to camp.

* * *

-To be continued


	23. Chapter 23

Alex smiled with relief when he saw Fabian return with his fishing partner, but the smile was rather short-lived. He glanced back down at his computer screen with a troubled frown as the flaxen Dane approached him and he spoke to him in a low voice as Fabian crouched at his side.

"Looks like we left right in time," informed Alex. "Reports have gone in to Dispatch that they found our suspected hideout...abandoned, of course. The council will want to know about this. They might even want us to 'jump' again to the next location to keep them off our scent."

Olson scratched the blond stubble on his chin and he glanced at the tent where Tiller went to be with his wife. "We can't move with a woman in the middle of giving birth, unless we leave her and her husband behind to try and catch up with us afterwards."

Alex was horrified by the suggestion. "We can't do that! What if they get caught? What if something goes wrong and she needs a medic to help her finish the delivery?"

The Undertaker happened to be passing by with the empty bowls from his and Grell's meal, on his way to clean them up and put them away with the kitchen supplies. Upon overhearing Alex he stopped and frowned. Eric and Alan had just returned as well and the taller of the two nearly ran into the mortician from behind, on his way to the kitchen tent as well.

"Oi, watch where yer goin'," protested Eric.

Undertaker paid no attention to him, too focused on what he'd just overheard. "Now why would we need t' think of leaving the Millers behind, chap?" He asked of Jeffries.

With a nervous look between Undertaker and Fabian, Alex explained.

"I think we'll be safe staying for a few days." Alan said once Alex had finished, "Our portals were made untraceable and we made sure to leave no clues behind. I think that we should keep moving, but we needn't so soon. We just arrived today, after all. And what is the point of setting up camp if we have to tear it down before even one night has passed?"

"I was only advising Alexander of one possible decision the council may come to," explained Fabian with a sigh. He smirked at the auburn-haired reaper. "He over-reacted."

"I'm pretty damned sure tha council wouldnae throw anyone tae tha wolves like tha'," comforted Eric when Alex started protesting again. "They'd have started wi' me if they were gonna do something like tha'."

"Probably," agreed the Undertaker. He patted Jeffries on the shoulder. "Don't let your friend here get you fretting. He's just being pessimistic. We'll get word out and set up extra guards while we're here but Mr. Humphries is right; they aren't likely t' track us here until we're long gone."

Alan nodded and handed Eric the fish he was holding before he slipped down to sit next to Alex, "We'll be fine. Every one of us in this camp will be. We won't abandon anyone and we have you keeping such a good eye on Dispatch's movements that we will know if they catch wind of our trail again, even with us moving every few days or so." he comforted the young man, rubbing his back.

Alex took some comfort in that. "I guess I did overreact a bit. I'm just tired."

"Then leave the monitoring to one of your helpers and have some food and rest," insisted Fabian. "They know how to watch the system now."

Alex rubbed his fatigued eyes and nodded. "That's a good idea. I'm down with some food and sleep."

"Now you're talking sense," approved the Undertaker. "Leave the council to me. I'll let Anderson know before I go to have a bit of rest and he can take it from there. No need to call a meeting just yet, by my reckoning."

"Come on," Alan smiled, pushing himself back up, "Eric and I were just heading to get supper, ourselves. You can join us."

Alex called out to one of the reapers that took shifts with him monitoring Dispatch activity, and he joined the couple while the other guy took over. Fabian went with the Undertaker to speak with Lawrence while they did that.

Alan was the first to get his bowl of stew, requesting a larger bowl than the other two soon after had. He walked carefully so as not to spill as he found a spot to sit in the mess tent, the bowl nearly overflowing.

He kept both hands on the bowl to warm them as he waited for the hot stew to cool a little, and for the other two to join him once they had their bowls. But realizing he'd left his bread roll, he called over to Eric, "Eric, I forgot my bread!"

"Go' it," assured Eric. He'd grabbed an extra one anyway, just in case Alan wanted more. He sat down with him and Alex, and he kissed Alan on the cheek as he handed the extra roll to him.

The laboring woman's cries grew more shrill and one of the medics hurried out of the tent and across the camp, asking around for the Undertaker.

"He said he'd be wi' Anderson," called Eric with a spoonful half way to his lips.

"...I hope everything is going alright..." Alan commented, dipping bread into his stew. He sighed and looked down, "I admit, with how Grell's ended...I worry a lot for my baby and the babies being carried by others in our group."

Eric frowned, of a similar mind. He got up when he saw the Undertaker follow the medic out of Father Anderson's tent and he went to see for himself what was going on. A couple of moments later he returned, his expression relaxing a bit with relief.

Eric sat back down and he rubbed Alan's shoulder soothingly. "Sounds like tha baby's crowning an' they jus' want him there tae supervise when they er..."

He trailed off, understanding the term he overheard them use well enough but thinking it wasn't something he should talk about to his expecting husband...especially while they were eating.

"...help her deliver it," he finished. There was no need to get graphic and mention what was likely a painful method to make it easier for the baby to come out.

Alan relaxed, nodding, "That's good." he sighed, blissfully unaware that the medics might have to do something more than catch the baby when he or she was pushed out. "I hope it's warm enough in that tent. The bitter air would be a shock to the poor little thing."

"They've go' a brazier in there fer added warmth," explained Eric. "Long as they don't have people coming an' goin' too much an' letting tha heat out, it should be fine."

He began to eat with a sharp appetite and Alex was already half finished with his bowl. An agonized scream split the air and the hacker went pale, looking up from his food. "No way are you gonna catch me ever doing that, even if I can carry!"

Realizing he'd just said that in front of Alan, he grimaced and gave him an apologetic look. "Uh, sorry."

As disturbing as the sound of the woman's birthing struggles were to him, they had to be worse on Alan's nerves.

Alan sighed, shaking his head. "Undertaker, the medics, and I have discussed birthing when it comes time. They have told me what to expect and they are prepared for surgery if my body seems too weak to handle it." Even if his illness was inactive, it was still in him, and was a threat. They didn't even know when they would start moving again and labor may be enough to trigger them back into an attack. It was nerve wracking for Alan to realize that when it came time for the baby to be born, he'd be spending so much time under the knife. Right after birth he may need Undertaker to go right into his records to cure Thorns should they return with a vengeance.

It would be a scary time for him, but he had decided that he would only focus on bringing his child into the world safely. That was what mattered the most. The rest would be in the hands of Undertaker and the medical team.

"Ye've been takin' good care o' yerself an' having regular checkups," reasoned Eric. "They said ya were in good shape last checkup, so maybe they won't have tae do any o' tha' when yer time comes."

Truthfully Eric hated the thought of Alan going under the knife, and he wouldn't even let himself think of the Thorns waking up in the middle of childbirth. The prospect of that and the danger of losing both his spouse and their child to the curse terrified him inside.

"It is still a possibility that we need to keep in mind, Eric." Alan reminded him, "I don't like it either, but the day is getting closer, and we need to be prepared mentally for it."

Eric took a deep breath, then exhaled it slowly. "Aye." He looked at Alan and his eyes softened on him. He reached out to caress his face. "I jus' dun' like thinking of it all tha time, tha's all."

Feeling like he was intruding on a personal moment, Alex finished off his stew and got up. "Hey, thanks for eating with me. I'm gonna go and try to get some shut eye."

Eric nodded and watched him go for a moment, before turning his attention back to Alan again. "I cannae sleep at night when I think too hard on it, Al. I know tha risks an' I know there's no helping it, but I jus'...I cannae..."

He looked away in frustration, unable to express himself to his satisfaction. If he kept losing sleep over this he'd be of no use to anyone, and worrying himself sick wasn't going to help Alan or the baby.

Alan cupped his face, his voice soft and soothing in tone. "It's the cure you worked so hard to get me, Eric," he reminded. "It has risks, especially if Undertaker must perform the cure right away when our baby is born, but if anything is going to keep me here with you and our child, this is it. I know I have doubted the cure many times, but Undertaker would know better than anyone if it's worth a try, and he said it is. You can't lose faith in it now that I've accepted the idea you actually found a cure."

Eric swallowed and rested his hands over the ones cupping his face. "It's no' a lack of faith," he whispered, "it's knowing this is yer only chance an' if anything goes wrong...och...'m sorry, Al. This is why I try no' tae think about it...an' why I've been so damned determined tha' it's all gonna be okay. Maybe it seems like I'm in denial but it's how I've been coping. I dun' like tae think of anything going wrong."

"Eric..." Alan took his hands and guided them down to his round belly, "No matter what happens, you'll not be alone. And I'll be with you, even if I'm not in your arms." he pressed his hand over Eric's heart.

Eric stared at him for a moment, his features tense with lingering anxiety. He sighed and he rubbed Alan's belly before putting his free arm around the brunet to pull him closer. "Let's go lay down," he suggested softly, "get ou' of this cold an' get some rest."

Alan nodded, "I'm sorry... It's better for me to keep reality in mind... our ways of dealing with it contrast."

Eric forced a smile for him. "If I wanted someone more like mahself, I'd have gone after Ronnie."

He stood up and he offered his hands to the pregnant reaper to help him up, and once he did that, he collected their empty bowls so that they could clean them before retiring to their tent. Once they were inside, Eric fluffed their bedding to make it more comfortable for Alan, and then he undressed to change into a pair of thick pajama pants. He helped his spouse get settled in, and he sat cross-legged at Alan's feet and pulled them into his lap so that he could begin massaging them. He kneaded the soles, heels and toes with strong, practiced fingers.

"Is yer back aching?" Eric questioned, glancing up from his massage. He could just make out the smaller reaper in the dim lantern light.

"More than I'd care to admit to anyone other than you." Alan nodded. His feet, neck, back... everything hurt from walking around through the snow all day, "I could use a full rubdown, to be honest...I could do so for you afterwards if you are a little sore from the hike."

Eric smirked. "I'm up fer tha'. Only place I'm sore is mah shoulders from swinging tha' brand around. Here, let's get yer backside taken care of. Do yeh want ta lay on yer side or sit up?"

Unfortunately Alan's stomach was too extended now for him to safely lay on it, so the best way for Eric to get to all of the sore spots was to either have him sitting up or on his side.

"If I lay down I may just fall asleep on you." Alan admitted, taking off his layers of clothes. He had to change into his pajamas, anyway, and Eric could work his muscles loose better without clothes hindering him. "It's been a long day."

Eric waited for him to change and sit back down, and he started to work the tension out of Alan's muscles with patient care. He smiled when Alan hummed in pleasure as he rubbed his neck and he leaned forward to kiss his ear. "Anyplace in particular I should work on more than others, sweetheart?"

"Lower back," Alan hummed. "It takes more of it than any part of me. Having to curve back to right my balance..." he felt Eric's large hands slip down his back, and he leaned back, tilting his head to the side to kiss his cheek. "Guess what," he whispered with a smile, "...you're my husband."

Eric chuckled at the endearing reminder and he nodded in agreement, steadily working his hands over the smaller reaper's back to soothe tired muscles. "Aye, an' yer mine." He nuzzled Alan's cheek with love. "An' I couldn't be happier wi' anyone else."

Alan smiled, "A year ago neither of us would have ever guessed that we'd be married and expecting...yet it feels like we have been together a lifetime."

Eric rubbed the smaller reaper's lower back with circular motions, pressing the heels of his palms against the area as he did so to loosen them up. "Mm-hmm. Honest tae gods though, I was in love wi' ya even then. I'm still kicking m'self fer waiting so long tae make a move on ya."

"If you had, we may not have this baby on the way." Alan pointed out, "And I love this baby too much to wish things any differently."

Eric kissed his shoulder. "Maybe. I s'pose tha's ano'er way we differ. I dwell on tha past an' tha things I might have done differently."

He brushed his lips against the side of Alan's neck and he smiled, his hands still steadily rubbing the sore spots with slow, circular motions. Now that he thought of it, he could sense exactly where his spouse was hurting the most, and he took advantage of their bond to soothe it.

"One thing I know fer sure, Alan: I'd be lost wi'out ya."

Alan was going to respond, but as he parted his lips, his words were cut off by a low moan as Eric's fingers rubbed just the right spot on his lower back, "Ohhh...it's good..." He closed his eyes and relaxed, fully enjoying the treatment.

Eric resisted a chuckle, pleased that he was doing well for his spouse. "Tha's mah lad," he purred against his ear, and he proceeded to coax every tense muscle in Alan's body to relax. He allowed the younger reaper to return the favor afterwards and they finally fell into a deep sleep...just as the sound of a baby's shrill cry pierced the air.

"Grell...wake up, lovely." Undertaker was loathe to wake his lover, but at the same time he felt he needed to tell him. Perhaps the news he had to impart would ease Grell's troubled mind somewhat. The crimson reaper had fallen asleep with Jeffries' listening gadgets over his ears, lulled by whatever sort of music the hacker had provided.

"Darlin', I've got to tell you something important," murmured the Undertaker as he gently eased the noisemaking earmuffs off Grell's ears.

Grell moaned, rolling onto his back when the sudden noise found his ears. The music lulling him to sleep was soft and soothing, very unlike the cry of a baby. Thinking they had fallen off, he reached up to move them back over his ears...but he found nothing near his head save long hair and a pillow. Confused, Grell sat up and turned to locate his glasses, nearly butting heads with his lover.

"Unnie..?" Grell blinked.

"Just thought you might want to know." Undertaker hunkered down beside his lover and he moved the sound device and earphones aside. He couldn't quite look at him as he said the next sentence. "The nipper made it safe, and the mother's fine. It's a girl."

~A girl, like ours was.~

The mortician's smile was both relieved and bitter. He tilted his head so that his bangs fell aside enough to see his lover clearly. "Not trying t' rub salt in the wound, understand. I just...thought it might give you peace of mind to know it doesn't always end the way ours did."

"I..." Grell choked on his words momentarily, "I know..." he swallowed and brought his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, "And I want to try again...later when the pain isn't so fresh and I can have faith in it working..."

The redhead sighed and looked up at the blur of silver, "When it won't break me to think of it not working out again."

The Undertaker surprised himself with his own quick nod of agreement. After all, he'd sworn never to try and reproduce again...until he stumbled into this volatile but undeniably loving relationship with Grell. He reached out to brush away the tear that had rolled down Grell's cheek. "Could take a bit of time for both of us, love. I wonder, though..."

He took a deep breath, and the cold air that usually hardly bothered him stabbed like knives in his lungs. "...would you like to hold her for a moment? See what it's like?"

The ancient braced himself. To some, his suggestion might seem inconsiderate or even cruel. He knew this, and yet he couldn't deny the stirrings of hope he'd felt when he'd caught that newborn reaper in his own hands before washing and swaddling her up. He'd only held her for long enough to clean off the yuck and bundle her before laying her on her mother's breast, but in that moment the infant grabbed his thumb. His own daughter might have done the same, had she lived. It hurt, but it also renewed his sense of purpose.

The Undertaker met Grell's uncertain eyes, and he spoke in a low whisper. "No one's going t' force you, my dear. It's only a suggestion...a li'l reminder of what we're fighting for now."

Grell took a shaky breath and looked away, "I don't think I should." he admitted in a low whisper, "It's no secret that I'm not the most rational or...sane of reapers. What if I start to think of her as our own we lost? I could forget myself and try to take her from her real mother." He shook his head. "I don't want to do that to another mother."

Undertaker caressed Grell's face. "They trust a madman like me to deliver their firstborn into this world. You're no worse off than I am, Grell Sutcliff...but like I said, it's up t' you."

He scuttled up to the smaller reaper and he put an arm around his slender shoulders, drawing him close. "Doesn't matter what everyone else says, m'dear. You're my lady and I love you. Oh my, I just said that aloud, didn't I? Hmph. Look what you've done to this ol' codger."

Grell reached up with one hand and cradled his cheek, "Maybe I can bring myself to hold her later... Or if not her, then maybe Alan's baby." he whispered, "But for now... come to bed with me, my love. It's been a long day for us both, and madmen like us shouldn't be left to our own devices and lack of a proper night's rest." Leaning forward, Grell kissed him, using his lips as a way to coax the elder to lay down in their bed.

Always a sucker for the taste of Grell's lips, the Undertaker offered little to no resistance. Though they didn't partake in actions that might lead to another pregnancy, they kissed and caressed to fulfillment. The both of them finally lay in an exhausted stupor, having expressed their mutual loss in the only way left to them until the sun began its climb on the horizon.

Alan relaxed back against the pillows lining a makeshift chair located in one of the community tents, helping to peel potatoes for lunch. Weeks had passed and while the large colony of refugees traveled the wilds from one location to the next and got closer to England, Alan grew heavier with child. When they reached France, he found himself nine months along and awaiting his due date. Movement had grown very difficult for him, and the medics had suggested that he stay off his feet as much as possible after he'd slipped on a patch of ice, attempting to help set up a tent the last time they had relocated.

It was a hard life on everyone and there was hardly a reaper in camp who wasn't eager to leave the cold snow and hard work foraging and hunting for food. Everyone was impatient for the council to finally give the go-ahead to make their move on Dispatch.

Eric had gone out hunting, and as fortune would have it he managed to take down a red deer buck. He came dragging it back into camp with him strapped to a stretcher he'd constructed to transport big game, and he grunted with effort, sweating despite the winter's chill. A few of his campmates came to his aid and took it from him, and he thanked them breathlessly and asked where his husband was. They pointed out the community tent he was in and Eric thanked them and left them to take care of skinning and cleaning his kill. That was the rule the council had agreed to: the hunters and fishers brought in their bounty and the rest of the community processed it for cooking or preserving.

Eric slipped his bow and quiver off his back as he approached the large shelter, setting them aside as he knelt before his spouse with a tired smile. "We'll eat good t'night, lover. I brought down a big one this time."

He reached out to rub Alan's covered belly, his gaze gently concerned on him. "Are ya feeling a'right, Alan? Can I get yeh anything?"

Alan took his husband's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Maybe some more water to drink and for you not to stray far." Alan smiled, his free hand setting aside the knife and half-peeled potato. "I've been feeling oddly since you left this morning...I can't help but feel it's nearly time."

He was cheerful and in high spirits, unlike the past two days which had found the brunet grumpily complaining that his pregnancy was taking too long or that he was too cold, or a few times, too hot when Eric tried to keep him warm.

Eric felt a surge of excitement, mingled with fear. "Ya think today might be tha big day? Where's Undertaker? Did ya tell him?"

Alan smiled. "Today, but maybe tomorrow. And yes, the medical team and Undertaker are both aware and have promised to be ready should the baby come. I wanted to send word to you, but William suggested waiting until I actually start having the baby for sure since you left hunting."

Eric could have cheerfully throttled his old boss for that, but since Alan hadn't had any contractions yet, he supposed the logic made sense. "I'll go an' get ya some water, then." He kissed Alan on the cheek and got up. "I'll be righ' back. Ya tell me tha minute ya feel anythin', a'right? Even tha smallest hint o' a contraction. I want tae be at yer side through every minute of it."

"Eric, I'm constantly feeling little flutters and bursts of discomfort. I'd be updating you every few seconds if I keep you updated on every little thing I feel right now. I'm waiting for the bigger ones to start happening."

Eric paused, his eyes widening. "So ye've started having contractions after all? Dammit...someone should've come tae get me! I dun' care if I was in tha middle of hunting, being wi' ya when it starts is more important tae me than...och, ne'er mind. Doesnae matter now. I'm here an' I'm no' leaving yer side...'cept tae go get tha' water yeh asked for."

Hoping for Will's sake he wouldn't run into him on the way, Eric went to the mess structure to get some water from the camp supplies. He procured a wooden cup and he filled it with the cool liquid, before heading back to the socializing shelter and rejoining his spouse.

"Here yeh are...nice an' cool." Eric handed the cup over to Alan.

"Thank you." Alan, thirstier than he thought he was, downed two thirds of the cup before setting it aside. Sighing, he pulled Eric's hand to guide him to sit next to him, taking the liberty to situate Eric's arms around himself as he cuddled up against him. "I love you..." he hummed happily, "How was your hunting trip? I know you said you were successful, but what did you get?"

"A big red buck," answered the Scotsman. He rubbed Alan's belly and kissed his temple, feeling the movement of their child under his palm. "So we'll have plenty o' venison tae feed tha camp fer a few days, at least. 'Bout time I brought somethin' down wi' enough meat tae make more than a thin soup. Tha hide'll come in handy, too."

His last couple of hunting trips resulted in him returning empty handed, and his last kill before that was just a brace of conies. He'd been starting to feel inadequate as a provider, but now his confidence was restored and he felt a little proud of his success.

Alan smiled, stretching to press a kiss to Eric's cheek, "I told you that your luck would change for the better. You can't expect to see big game every time you go out. Just be patient and you'll-oh!" he cut off with a flinch, pressing both hands to his lower belly. "Oh that was more than discomfort..." he said in a strangely calm voice.

Eric felt the way Alan's stomach hardened under his hand and he looked around nervously for Undertaker or one of the medics. "Should I help yeh walk around fer a bit? Should we get ya inside that medical tent?"

He was babbling with nervous excitement, unsure of what to do. It was easy to talk about other people having babies but it was very different when it came to his own. Having grown up in the farmlands of the Highlands, he knew how birthing worked but Alan's case was quite exceptional.

Alan nodded, "Maybe movement will help." He slipped his arms around Eric, flinching again in pain. "I think it's starting... I'm not enjoying this feeling."

Eric helped him to his feet and he kept an arm around him as they began to walk slowly through the camp. "Jus' breathe like they taught ya," he encouraged, one hand on his spouse's swollen belly to rub it soothingly. "I'll do it wi' ya. Might help ya keep tha rhythm."

He spotted Will heading their way and Eric grimaced with annoyance. The former supervisor frowned at the sight of Alan hobbling with his husband's arm around him and he walked briskly over to them. "Has it begun?"

"Aye, it's starting," answered Eric in a less than friendly tone. "Started before I made it back, in fact. Ya should've sent someone tae get me."

"Babies don't slide immediately out the moment the expecting parent starts to feel contractions," reminded William coolly. "I made a judgment call. Better to have you return on your own time than send you into a panic that might lead to you being reckless and getting hurt, Slingby."

Eric grudgingly shrugged. "Wull in tha future, ye'd best know I'd rather be here from tha moment it starts 'till tha moment it's finished."

"I hardly think we'll still be out here in the wilds when and if the two of you have another child on the way," countered Will dryly. "May I be of assistance?"

Eric shook his head. "Nothing tae be done right now. We're just havin' a little walk tae help ease it a bit."

"Stubborn man." Alan flushed before looking at William, "If you happen to see the Undertaker, please let him know that the discomfort is now getting more painful." he rubbed his belly and took a deep breath, "Nothing too bad, though. I don't think the baby is going to come right away."

William nodded. "I shall relay the message, should I cross paths with him. Just don't hesitate to send for him if you feel any unusual pains that might be related to the Thorns and not the impending birth."

The reminder of that risk made Eric tense a little, but he didn't say anything. Alan was excited that they might soon be welcoming their firstborn into the world and he didn't want to ruin that for him with his concerns.

Alan nodded, "I...am sure Eric would make sure that that doesn't stay quiet."

The brunet looked up at Eric, looking into his eyes and smiling to regain his excitement about having their baby. "We'll be fine; all three of us."

Eric nodded, trying to clamp down on the anxiety of a father expecting his first child. If he didn't calm down, he knew he'd end up pestering Alan with endless questions like where he was hurting, if he could get him anything, if he was too cold or too hot and several other questions. Alan would let him know if he needed anything, he was sure. He resumed walking with the smaller reaper while William went his own way to finish whatever he'd been in the process of doing.

"Looks like Alan might be expecting his baby by tomorrow," Undertaker explained to Grell when he stopped by their tent to retrieve his personal medical bag. "I'm just going to get set up for it in the medical tent."

The redhead was reading a book by lantern light, currently. He often retired to read his romance books during the day, but he wasn't as antisocial now as he'd been a few months ago. The Undertaker regarded his lover quietly for a moment as Grell looked up at him, and he hesitantly made and offer. "You know you'd be welcome to attend too, if you wanted. I'm sure Alan wouldn't mind the extra support until it's time for him to start pushing."

Grell glanced up from the pages of his book. "I'll see how I feel about it when things start happening." He sighed, lowering his book to his lap. "I want to help him, I do. But every so often the pain comes back full force to my heart."

He stretched with a groan before relaxing, again, "But I do hope that Eric is back from hunting when it happens. Poor Alan has gone through this pregnancy with far too much loneliness as it is."

"Mm-hmm. I agree. He's been a saint, though." Undertaker smiled as he thought of how little the small brunet ever complained about his aches and how cooperative he always was during checkups. He sighed and he bent over to caress Grell's cheek. "I understand how y' feel, lovely. I won't pressure you, but we've both got to move on and live again. After all, that's why we're here now, isn't it? If it isn't worth it then why bother fighting? Just think on that, m'dear."

He bent down further to place a kiss on the crown of Grell's head, and then he straightened back up to leave. "I'll come back with some lunch for us after I finish setting up. You oughtn't stay in this stuffy tent all day though. It's not so cold today, so a bit of fresh air might do you some good."

"I'll think about it." Grell sighed, watching Undertaker leave the tent to fetch lunch.

He was right, after all. Grell had decided to move on and live again, and still he could be found moping in a lonely space away from everyone in his free time. Slipping a marker into his book, he set it aside and got up to go to the small mirror he had attached to the open lid of his travel trunk. Settling down before it, he looked himself in the eye. "Stop being so stupid." he scolded himself, starting on a pep talk to encourage himself, "Now, what you are going to do after you eat is go out there and help Alan with his baby and you will hold that baby and smile and be happy!"

Outside the tent, the Undertaker paused and smiled, hearing Grell's lecture to himself. He bowed his head and looked down at the med bag in his hand. "Well done, love," he whispered. "Well done."

His steps were lighter as he walked back to the medical tent to prepare for the birth of Alan's child—and the procedure he was likely going to have to do shortly after to cleanse him of the Thorns. Undertaker was confident that he could do it, but some of the success percentage still relied on Alan's inner strength to endure it. With a new baby and a loving spouse in his life, the small but determined young man had a very good chance.

The Undertaker spotted the reaper that was on his thoughts as he approached the center of the camp. Alan was walking—or rather hobbling—with Eric at his side, one hand on his belly and one arm around his partner's waist. Eric was speaking softly to him, encouraging him to make use of the breathing exercises. The mortician paused, examining the scene with a little sigh of envy and regret. He might have been doing much the same for Grell in a month or two, had things gone differently. He'd just told his lover that they needed to move on though, and he needed to keep his head in the now, rather than on missed opportunities.

Undertaker forced a bright smile to his lips as he approached the couple. "Hi, hi. How are we doing so far, li'l chap? You're looking a bit winded."

"I am..." Alan breathed, "Hurts, but not too bad... walking is helping." He swallowed and his face showed a hint of the pain he was feeling, "I think...I'm going to stay near the medical tent on this walk..." he trailed off in order to make use of breathing exercises. There was no doubt in his mind anymore that the baby would be born before the day was up.

Undertaker pondered the situation for a moment, and then he lowered his medical bag to the ground and opened it up, squatting to rummage through it. He retrieved a bottle of medication and the wrapped spoon he kept for distribution of it, and he measured out a dose of the elixir for Alan, and he held out the spoon for him. "Here, swallow this down. It'll ease some of your pain and take the edge off. You can have one spoonful every four hours, but not more than that. Don't worry; it's mild and it won't hurt the baby or dull your senses. Sorry I can't give you anything stronger, love."

"As long as it won't hurt the baby." Alan agreed, taking the spoon. He was always very careful about what he put in his body ever since he found out he was expecting. He wanted the baby to have perfect health, unlike him.

The medication was bitter, and Alan gagged on it, but managed to get it all down before handing the spoon back, "Thank you, Undertaker."

The mortician nodded and he wiped the spoon off before wrapping it back up. "I'll just leave this on the counter in the med tent so you can take more when you need it."

Holding the bottle and spoon in one hand, the mortician reached out to lay his palm over Alan's stomach. Feeling the activity of the clenching muscles, he sucked his teeth in thought. "My, you're progressing quickly. You could end up with your new babe in your arms before the sun rises tomorrow, at this rate. Not having any chest pains at all, are you?"

Alan shook his head, "None yet, thankfully." He looked at Eric, "What time is it so we know when it will be safe to take more of that stuff and not harm the baby?"

Eric checked his watch. "Thirteen past noon. So 'round four o'clock yeh can have ano'er dose if ya need it."

He imagined Alan likely would. He'd gone from having little warning contractions to real ones quickly, and Eric was keeping a close eye on their spacing to have some idea of how close to labor Alan was getting.

Undertaker was of a similar mind. "How far apart are the contractions, lads?"

"So far about every nine minutes," answered the Scotsman, placing a soothing hand on his partner's stomach. "They started up in earnest 'bout twenty minutes ago."

"My, my...they really are progressing quickly. It doesn't seem like you'll have a terribly long wait. I'll go ahead and get set up to do the cleansing procedure too, while I'm at it." He bent over to retrieve his medical kit. "Better safe than sorry, eh?"

Eric nodded. "Agreed. Thanks, sir."

"I'm glad you knew... I'm not paying attention to the spacing." Alan mumbled to his husband. Though it was understandable as he was living the pain and it skewed his sense of time. He patted Eric's chest, "I need to walk some more, Love."

"Right." Eric put an arm around him again and he guided Alan's shuffling steps, rubbing his back as they went in an attempt to ease the tension in it. "Steady, sweetheart," he encouraged.

They passed by the medical tent as the Undertaker went into it to prepare, and they made their way to the kitchen setup. "Want ano'er cup of water?" offered the Scotsman.

Alan nodded, gripping Erics coat and wishing that the medication would hurry and kick in its effects.

Not even three hours later found the brunet lying in the medical tent, squeezing Eric's hand as tight as he could as Grell made himself useful pressing a cool cloth to his sweating forehead. And though he didn't scream or cry out, his breathing was labored and held grunts of pain as he grit his teeth and the medics coached him to breathe-which made him feel frustrated, but he was in too much pain to say anything. The baby was coming, but it was taking its time on actually sliding out, even as the brunet pushed.

"You can do this. You're a good, strong mommy, and you can do this," Grell soothed in turn after Eric had expressed his own words of encouragement. Luckily, no real complications had arisen to force a c-section, and a natural birth was on its way of being successful.

Panting, Alan readied himself and then sucked in another breath and tried pushing again. Never again...he never wanted to do this again.

But those thoughts were fleeting as finally, he felt the pressure suddenly give way and his baby slipped out into the Undertaker's waiting arms.

The female medic glanced at the baby and smiled, looking over at the new parents, "Congratulations, you two are now the proud parents of a cute little baby boy!"

"A boy..." Alan panted, falling limp on the birthing bed; exhausted. "Eric...it's a boy..." he smiled weakly.

Eric stared dumbly at the infant as the Undertaker cleaned him up and swaddled him. He didn't immediately respond when the mortician tried to hand him over, and Undertaker cleared his throat.

"Are you going t' stand there gawking at him, or are you going to hold him, chap?"

Eric blinked, and he swallowed a little nervously as he released Alan's hand and held his arms out for the baby. The medics were cleaning Alan up, and Eric looked down at him uncertainly. He knew how to hold babies, but suddenly he was afraid he might accidentally break their son.

"Al...he's perfect," the Scotscman managed to rasp, still hardly believing the babe had come so quickly.

He sat down on the stool by the bed and he leaned toward his spouse to give him a closer look of their child. A smile finally found its way on Eric's lips as the baby let out its first cry, and he patted him gently to sooth him.

"Healthy set o' lungs," observed Eric with a chuckle.

Undertaker grinned and he dropped the soiled towels into a wash bucket. "What's his name?"

Alan took pause from smiling at the baby boy. They hadn't discussed names like they had planned; every time they tried they got distracted by each other's lips and hands.

"He needs a name..." The tired brunet whispered, gently stroking the soft, damp brown hair atop their son's head. "We forgot to discuss names..."

"Newlyweds." Grell rolled his eyes and stood up to empty the bowl of cool water he'd used to help Alan through labor, "You have time to discuss his cute widdle name while you bond with him-but I want to be the first to hold him after he's named and you have had enough bonding time for now!"

Undertaker chuckled and he stripped off his surgical gloves. With that done, he put an arm around Grell and gently escorted him from the tent, nodding at the other medics on the way meaningfully. They left the new parents alone to bond with their son and discuss names.

"Uh, I had a couple in mind but damned if I can recall wha' they were," admitted Eric. The baby cooed and he made a grownup version of the same sound at him. He looked at Alan thoughtfully. "Wha' do ya think?"

Their son giggled, wiggling his arms and legs inside the blanket swaddling him, his eyes just starting to crack open for the first time. "Ahhhh!"

Alan felt like his heart was melting as he gazed upon him, his fingers gently touching the soft skin of his cheek and ear. The baby's hand escaped the blanket and caught Alan's ring finger, gripping it and guiding its tip right into his mouth.

Alan smiled wide, tilting his head. "Mathew... or...Pearl..." Alan didn't know. There were many names he liked.

Eric choked a bit in his effort not to scoff. "P-Pearl? Do yeh want tha lad tae get picked on in school, lover?"

He couldn't help it, he snickered a little. When Alan glared at him he cleared his throat. Now wasn't the time to be picking on his spouse, after all the work Alan did bringing their son into the world. "Er...sorry. I think Matthew would be jus' fine."

Alan flushed pink, "Well it was just a suggestion." he looked back at the baby boy, "What do you think, Baby? Do you like the name Mathew?"

Bright green-gold eyes flickered over to look at Alan, and the boy gave a toothless grin around Alan's finger.

"I think he likes it."

Eric smiled down at their son, and he leaned over to kiss Alan's sweat-dampened forehead. "Then Matthew it is."

The baby started to fuss and Eric guessed the cause of his distress. "Probably needs a feeding. Do ya have tha strength tae hold him fer a few minutes while I get a bottle ready?"

That was another disadvantage males that could carry had—no ability to provide natural milk for their offspring. It wasn't a dire problem since reaper kind developed a sufficient formula for babies born of males, but it did require a bit of preparation. The Undertaker had already prepared the mixture, so all Eric needed to do was transfer some of it to the bottle and warm it up.

"I'm sure I can last." Alan smiled, letting Eric help prop him up with pillows and slip the baby into his arms. "Are you hungry, Mathew, sweetie? Daddy's getting you something yummy to drink." he cooed, holding him close.

It took Eric about three minutes to get the bottle ready, and Alan did a good job keeping the infant calm in the meanwhile. The Scotsman returned to his spouse's side as soon as he deduced the formula was mixed enough and the right temperature, and he sat back down on the stool by Alan's bedside.

"Here yeh are, little Matthew," murmured Eric in his deep, soothing voice. "Take a swig o' tha'. Mmm, yummy!"

Mathew whimpered, eyeing the strange looking thing being offered to him with a look of mistrust.

Alan chuckled, "It's okay. It'll make you feel much better." he encouraged.

The baby seemed to look between his parents for a moment before he opened his mouth to accept the nipple. His eyes grew wide as he suckled it, surprised by the treat he received.

Eric's grin broadened as he watched the expression of wonder on their newborn's little face. "See there? Yer da wouldnae lie tae ya, kiddo. Drink it all up like a good boy."

As the baby suckled at his meal, Eric leaned in to rest his head against Alan's and watch. "How're ya feelin', sweetheart? Anything I can do for ya?"

"Tired...very tired... But I want to stay up as long as I can with him...and you." Alan turned his head to press a kiss to Eric's cheek, "We're a real family, now..." he smiled.

Eric could have argued that they were a "real family" before the child came along, but he understood Alan's meaning. He returned the kiss and he sighed, hoping against hope that Alan would be strong enough for the procedure that still remained. Seeing how good he was with their son only made the notion of failure even more painful to him.

Little Matthew suckled on his bottle until there was nothing left and he released it with a hiccup. Alan, though tired, moved him to his shoulder and started patting his back to burp him, and then handed him off to his father.

"I'm thinking I need to rest now before I pass out while holding him." he explained, knowing Eric would fully understand. Then he looked at their son who's eyes were also starting to droop, "Mama will see you in a few hours, sweetie." he whispered, "Daddy will take good care of you."

Eric put aside the bottle and he carefully took the swaddled infant from his husband's arms. He bent over to give Alan a soft kiss on the lips before straightening up. "I'll put him down in his bassinet in our tent fer a nap," he assured Alan. "Tha community can meet him later after he's rested up. Jus' get plenty o' rest, lover. Ya did wonderfully."

"Make sure he doesn't get too cold in our tent." Alan added before his eyes closed and he sank into the pillows and quickly drifted off, his hand still holding Eric's.

Matthew's nap lasted quite a bit shorter than his mother's. Waking up and crying until he grabbed his father's attention and was picked up again, soon finding himself the center of attention as members of the camp eagerly greeted him with attention. Passed around from one set of arms to another, the entire time his father there to make sure he was happy and taken care of.

Grell had been the first to hold him, but the redhead maneuvered himself around to get a second chance, taking him into his arms and cooing down at him, "How is Aunty's widdle cutie-patootie~ Oh you are simply precious, yes you are!"

"Awwhh!" Matthew wiggled, swaddled so that he'd stay warm in the cold winter weather, he was unable to reach out to try and grab hold of the tempting dangling beads and hair.

"I'm making you some widdle red booties! Yes I am! Keep your toesies nice and warm in the most stylish of ways!" Grell looked up at Eric, "Alan still sleeping it off?"

Eric nodded, grinning proudly at his son as the Undertaker came up behind Grell to make goofy faces over his shoulder at the infant. "Aye. I figure after a day or two o' rest he should be strong enough fer tha treatment tae cure his Thorns. What d'ya think, Undertaker?"

The mortician, distracted by the cute new blessing in his lover's arms, didn't immediately answer. He looked up with a vague expression when Eric cleared his throat to get his attention. "Eh? Oh, yes. Mister Humphries should be strong enough in a couple days for the procedure. Once he's cured, we can move on to the next location. Lawrence and I reckon we should make it back to England by next month, if we keep moving every week. Then the real fireworks can begin."

He nuzzled Grell's ear, feeling some relief at seeing how naturally he was interacting with the newborn. "He's a peach, isn't he love? And just think; we both helped him come into the world in our own ways."

It was true. Grell had stayed by Alan's side during the labor until the end, comforting and encouraging him. The Undertaker himself had helped deliver the baby and cut the cord. Of course, Undertaker had gotten his healing experience earlier than Grell since he was the default "midwife" of the camp, but just seeing the sparkle return to Grell's eyes was even more therapeutic for him. They would never forget their little girl and that pain would probably never go away completely, but there was new hope. Perhaps one day they would welcome their second child into the world, and this time it would survive. He never thought of himself as father material but now he was beginning to change his tune.

"He's more than a peach..." Grell giggled, tickling Matthew's chin and making him giggle, "Little giggle fruit. I could just eat him up! Especially right now! Little baby roll~"

"No eating babies!" Ronald smirked as he passed by, arms loaded with firewood that he'd just chopped, "I'm pretty sure you are supposed to play with them. Mind your teeth."

"Ohh-you know what I meant, Ronnie!"

"With you? No telling." The blond dumped his load off on the stock pile and stretched. "Now, can I see him? He was napping last time I had a free moment." He held out his arms.

Grell stuck his tongue out at Ron, but carefully handed him the baby.

"'ey there little guy, I'm your uncle Ronnie! Your favorite uncle." He smiled.

Alexander saw the commotion and he came over to have a peek at the newborn. "Cute," he complimented. "How's Alan doing?"

"He's resting just fine," assured the mortician. "Might even be strong enough for the Thorns procedure as early as tomorrow. We'll just have to wait and see. In the meantime I'm having him closely monitored."

"Wha' happens if tha Thorns start getting active again before he's recovered?" Eric looked toward the medical tent with a frown of concern. They hadn't discussed what the game plan was in case of an emergency with the Thorns.

Undertaker hesitated for a moment. "Depends on how aggressive they are if they do wake before we schedule it. If they only react with the usual activity we can wait, but if they immediately attack...well, there's not much choice. Try not to fret, chap. If they so much as prick him, we'll know about it immediately."

Eric nodded and tried to relax. He looked at his son and he debated for a moment. He supposed he could leave him in his friends' care for a little while so he could check on his spouse. "I'll be right back," he finally said. "I'm gonna go look in on Al. Do ya mind watching Matthew fer a little while?"

"Of course! I don't mind as long as I don't have to change any nappies." Ronald smiled, "I can make Will do that."

Grell smirked. "Now that I'd like to watch! I'll stick around fo-"

"Mister Undertaker, sir!" interrupted a reaper who had been assisting in watching over Alan in the medical tent. "Mister Humphries- something happened to him!" The young woman wasn't a medic, and wasn't aware of Alan's illness. All she knew was that in his sleep he suddenly cried out, clutching at his chest and coughing.

Eric's tanned complexion rapidly went pale, and he took off toward the medical tent like the entire British army was at his heels, not waiting to see if the Undertaker came with him.

The mortician swore softly and looked at his lover. "Grell, help Knox with the nipper. If you've got any questions you know who all the parents are in camp, so I'm sure they'll help out if y' need it. Seems Alan's condition isn't going t' give us much of a breather."

He kissed Grell on the cheek and then took off after Eric, cramming one hand over his hat to keep it from flying off his head as he sprinted. People jumped out of the Undertaker's way as he waved his free arm and shooed them loudly. Eric was already in the tent when he made it there, both arms wrapped around his spouse as Alan writhed in pain and the female medic named Jenna was hastily measuring a dose of the medication injection they used on Thorns victims during an attack. With any luck it would temporarily stun the malicious growth and give Undertaker the chance to do the cleansing procedure on him.

"Double that dosage, Miss Cole," ordered the Undertaker. "It might make the li'l chap a bit sleepy but it'll buy us more time."

She nodded her blond head, eyes wide with anxiety as she complied. "Yes sir."

"Alan?" The mortician called, laying a long, pale hand over the young man's feverish forehead. "Listen to me, if you can. We're going to give you a dose of hypexerol to numb those stickers in you and get you some relief. It'll make you drowsy, but it oughtn't dull your senses too much. I need you to focus on your husband and be strong, yeah?"

Alan gasped, glancing over at him as he gripped his husband's shirt with a shaky fist. It was amazing to him how he had forgotten the pain of Thorns in only nine months of them being in submission.

"Eric..." he coughed, hiding his face into his shoulder.

The medic, having the doubled dose ready, stepped forward and cleaned a spot on Alan's thigh with alcohol before pressing the needle in to inject him. Alan barely felt it with the pain of Thorns overpowering his senses.

Eric stroked his hair and rocked him, murmuring soothingly to him in Gaelic because he knew Alan loved to hear him speak the language of his country of origin. "Tha mi cluinn, mo cluinn."

It translated into "I'm here, my heart," and Eric knew that Alan at least understood the latter part, as he often called him his heart in Gaelic when they made love—though they hadn't really gone all the way since the first time when they conceived their son. Still, he couldn't seem to help himself from whispering the endearment to Alan each time they kissed and explored one another's bodies. The Scotsman trembled with fear for his spouse, but he kept his voice even and soothing as he spoke to him.

"Right," muttered the Undertaker as he opened his medical journal to the place he'd marked it, where all of the steps for the procedure were carefully catalogued. "Soon as they calm down a bit we'll begin."

He didn't want to begin his work right away unless he had no choice. The Thorns were likely to react with hostility if he started purifying them while they were so active, and that would endanger Alan's life further.

It didn't take long, though it felt like forever to Eric and Alan. Finally Alan was able to relax, his body no longer twitching in pain. He sank into Eric's arms, his eyelids heavy and his breathing calming.

He could still feel the Thorns, but the pain was much more manageable thanks to the injection. Noticing the change, the Undertaker summoned his scythe and approached the ailing young man. "I'm sure you both remember me explaining all this, but I'm going to tell you everything I'm doing as I go along so there's no surprises. First I'm going to unbutton Alan's gown so I can make a wee cut in his chest, just over his heart. Ready, lad?"

Taking a deep breath, Alan nodded, taking Eric's hand for comfort. It was dangerous, he knew that. Eric knew it, everyone did. But if they didn't try it, he'd die anyway as Thorns finally ripped his soul from existence. He was weak, but he'd try anything to stay in his husband and son's lives for eternity.

Undertaker pinned his bangs back and put on his glasses. With great care, he opened up Alan's gown and he made a small cut with his scythe; just deep enough to suit his purposes. He drew the young man's records out slowly and cautiously, well-aware that reaper souls did not relinquish the reels as easily as mortal ones. He began to sweat with effort as he worked his will on them, drawing each of them out to locate the corruption and begin cleansing it. It was painful work—not just for Alan but for the Undertaker as well. With the death bookmark in one hand and the scythe in the other, he halted each corrupted reel and painstakingly "erased" the parts that did not belong there—placed there by accident from contact with the records of Alan's past reaps.

"Towel," demanded the mortician in a slightly strained voice, his pale forehead glistening with perspiration and he didn't want any of it getting into his eyes and spoiling his vision. "You're all right, lad," he soothed to Alan when the young man made a noise of distress. Jenna quickly wiped his head for him, and the Undertaker resumed.

Eric watched as the mortician painstakingly removed each foreign event in Alan's cinematic records and he was shocked by how many of them there were. Just how often had Alan let the reels pass through him? How many times had he done it while they were out reaping together, and Eric had never even realized it? It frustrated him to think of all the times he'd found Alan weeping next to one of his targets after gathering their records, and it hadn't even dawned on him that it wasn't sadness born simply of pity. His partner had literally experienced moments of his reaping targets' lives...a thing that Dispatch had always warned agents against trying.

"Be brave, Alan," encouraged the Scotsman, swallowing the ache in his own chest at witnessing his love's suffering.

With each corruption erased from his records, Alan felt a very painful emotional loss, as if precious memories were being stolen away from him. They had, after all, become a part of him and had been for so long. Tears streamed down his face and into his hair as he tried to let them go. He knew he had to. He knew they had to be cleaned out. But it was getting harder and harder for him to calmly let the Undertaker rip each of them away from his very soul.

His mind began to go mad with thoughts that overpowered and clouded his judgment. Just why did they have to do this to him? Why were they ripping his soul apart? Why couldn't he keep the memory of those people in his heart? He'd done nothing wrong! They were part of him, now! They lived in him and Undertaker was killing them! Killing him!

Before he knew it Alan screamed out in pain and anger, wanting to make it stop. "NO! NO STOP! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" He began fighting his lover who held him, and in his hand his scythe materialized. He'd kill them if he had to! They weren't his friends, they were his enemies. Demons stealing the souls he protected and he wasn't going to lay there and let them kill him to do it!

"Ah, shite," swore Eric, grabbing Alan's wrist to prevent him from striking out at them with his scythe. "Undertaker, what's happening tae him?"

"He's delusional," guessed the mortician. "You've got to remember, those mortal memories have been a part of his records for some time now. The boy's confused. We'll have to restrain him and quickly, else I might slip and trim the wrong thing!"

Jenna called for Kyle and a couple of others that had been working as helpers in the medical tent, and they rushed in to help Eric subdue his husband and get him strapped tightly down.

"Talk to him, Eric," grunted the Undertaker. "Remind him who he is and help him get grounded."

"Alan, lover," called the Scotsman immediately, "Those aren't yer memories! Tha people they belonged to have already passed on, an' those memories dun' belong here! They're gonna kill ya if we cannae remove 'em, sweetheart. Dun' make me a widower. Remember our new son? Matthew needs his mother. Please Al...dun' make me raise him all on my own. Dun' leave us."

"No-NAH!" Desperately Alan struggled against all the hands holding him down, but there were too many and he was too weakened to break free.

His vision swam in tears, and his ears rang, blocking out most of Eric's soothing voice. He'd forgotten Eric was even there.

Where was Eric? Hadn't Eric promised to protect him? "ERIC!" he called out for his lover, over and over again.

"It's not working!" Kyle grunted, "Does he need to be awake for this? Maybe a sedative to put him under..."

Undertaker's tension increased and he fought to maintain control over the records. Having the patient conscious would be helpful, if only to gauge when to ease up and take a break from the procedure to allow some recovery. Humphries, however, was struggling too hard against him and his reels threatened to slip out of the Undertaker's control. "Measure out half an adult dose of it and give it to him," he instructed. "We'll see if it calms him enough and if not, I s'pose we'll have to put him under and wing it."

"Alan," Eric called desperately, cupping his spouse's face in a desperate attempt to get his attention, now that they'd restrained his limbs. "Alan, I'm righ' here! Look at me, sweetheart! I havenae left yer side!"

He cursed when Alan seemed to stare right through him, and he did the only thing he could think of to make his presence known to the delusional reaper...he lowered his mouth to Alan's for a kiss.

The feel of lips on his was enough to shock him still just enough for Kyle to inject his arm with the sedative, and the whole team watched with held breath as Alan slowly relaxed with the drug's effect. He was still awake and muttering his protests, but his body no longer thrashed about, allowing for the procedure to continue. With a little sigh, the Undertaker resumed his careful work and Eric stroked Alan's hair and continued talking to him, doing his best to reassure and comfort his husband.

It seemed to take several hours to those assisting, but in reality the Undertaker finished cleansing the last of the foreign memories from Alan's records in a little under two. The ancient gave an exhausted smile, his silver hair damp with perspiration despite Jenna's attempt to cool him by fanning him with a large frond they'd brought into the tent for just such a purpose. His work wasn't yet finished, though. He began the task of gathering Alan's reels and feeding them back into his body, and that alone took him another thirty minutes. It was delicate work and he had to be careful not to damage them as he put them back. Finally the deed was finished, and he applied a local anesthetic injection to deaden the area around the cut and begin suturing it back up with spirit stitching.

"Tha's it?" Eric inquired hopefully as he watched the mortician skillfully stitch Alan's cut. The markings of the Thorns beneath Alan's skin were already fading, leaving behind faint white marks like stretch mark scars in their wake. Perhaps with time those too would fade entirely, but even if they did not, Eric would consider them scars of battle and victory...and he would love every inch of his spouse regardless. Alan was fast asleep, warn out by the experience.

Undertaker nodded. "Indeed. Now I ought to warn you, removing those mortal memories might cause him a bit of confusion for a while, 'cause he's been living with them for years. Frankly I'm surprised the li'l chap never suffered any identity confusion before we started this procedure, but that just goes to show how strong he really is. I can give you some herbs you can crush up in his tea that help with depression, if he starts getting the mopes."

Eric nodded and let out the breath he was holding. He smiled down at Alan, hardly believing the deadly affliction was finally gone. He wasn't going to lose him. His sweet, gentle spouse would live to raise their son with him and perhaps some brothers and sisters later on, too. The Scotsman's vision blurred and he hastily looked away, his throat aching with a sudden swell of emotions.

"I cannae thank ya enough, sir," he managed to choke out. "Ye've saved his life."

The Undertaker chuckled—but not unkindly. "Then you ought to thank yourself while you're at it, and Mister Jeffries, too. If it weren't for your stubborn determination and his fiddling with Dispatch's records t' find that cure, your Alan might not be here much longer."

Eric didn't feel he deserved particular praise for being too stubborn to let Alan go, but he made a mental note to thank Alex later on. Right now he just wanted to be alone with his husband, before anyone witnessed him crying.

Undertaker figured it out and he ushered everyone out of the tent. "I'll give you a moment, lad. I'm due for a nap myself after all that, and you ought to seek your bedding too. You've hardly slept a wink since yesterday and you've got baggies under your eyes."

Eric nodded and took a shuddering breath. "Aye, I'll take a nap in a while. I jus...want tae be alone wi' him fer a moment."

The mortician nodded in return and he ducked out of the tent with the others, leaving the couple in solitude. As soon as there were no witnesses to see it, Eric bent over Alan's sleeping form to lay his head on his chest and he wept softly, broad shoulders jerking with his low sobs of gratitude.

Ronald walked around his and William's tent, trying to calm Matthew's cries. William was out with a scouting party, so he had broken down and changed the boy's diaper himself. Still, the baby was unhappy. Next he was trying food. He'd gone into Eric and Alan's tent to grab a bottle and he currently had formula heating up.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Matty, Uncle Ronnie's got your dinner almost ready. Just a minute more."

William returned from his mission at that moment, ducking into their tent. He regarded his lover and the baby in his arms with an uncertain, wary expression for a moment, unused to being in close proximity with babies. He approached as though the child might be a springtrap that could snap shut on him if he stepped the wrong way, and he peered down at him.

"Is this...Humphries and Slingby's child?" He'd known Alan was going into labor when he left the camp on his assignment, but he hadn't expected to find the infant born already upon his return. The last birth in their camp took an entire day, not merely a few hours.

"Yeah. They named him Matthew." Ron nodded, grabbing the warmed bottle and testing the temperature like he had been taught to do by one of the parents in the camp, then he offered it to the fussy newborn who quickly latched onto the nipple and began to suckle his dinner. "Eric asked me to babysit when Alan started having an attack and Undertaker decided to go ahead with that cure thing."

"Humphries had an attack so soon?" Will frowned. "That certainly did not take long. Perhaps I should—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the tent flap was pulled open and Eric ducked in. He sighed in relief at the sight of his son in Ronald's arms, the dark circles under his eyes visible even in this dim light. William could see that his eyes were bloodshot even through the tinted lenses of the Scotsman's glasses.

"Thanks fer watching him, Ronnie," said Eric as he reached for the baby. "Alan's resting now, an' Undertaker says he'll be a'right wi' time."

"Did it work?" Ron asked, handing the baby and bottle over, "Is Alan-senpai cured? It's only been two hours...and you look like you are about to keel over. You should get some sleep."

"Aye, it worked," answered the Scotsman. He began to feed his son and he gave the infant a tired smile when Matthew seemed to recognize him and made grabby-hands up at him. "Yer mother's going tae be wi' us fer a long time, Matthew. Thank Lugh fer tha'. Da wouldn't know wha' tae do wi' himself wi'out his Alan."

Once the baby started to drink, Eric looked at his two companions solemnly. "Tha road tae recovery won't be so simple, though. Alan took in a lo' more foreign records than we thought an'...wull, I hear it can be addictive. Gods willing we e'er get Dispatch back, I'll have tae keep a closer eye on him when we do any reapings, tae make sure this ne'er happens again."

"Or he could be assigned a desk job until we can be certain the temptation to interact with cinematic records that way will not overcome him again," suggested William. "There are many avenues to try. We can discuss those options when the need actually presents itself. For now, Mister Slingby, I believe Ronald is correct. You should lie down and rest as soon as you have finished feeding your son."

"Will do," sighed Eric. He smiled at Matthew again. "Let's go tae our tent, lad. Daddy needs some rest so he can keep takin' care o' you an' Mommy."

He looked at Will and Ron before taking his leave. "Thanks fer all yer help. I'll let ya know when Alan's awake again an' up fer visitors, if ya like."

"We can babysit if you need, again too." Ron said, following him to the tent flap, "I mean, he's kinda cute when he's not pooping."

Eric chuckled. "Everybody poops, Ronnie. Babies jus' have tae do it in their diapers 'till they're old enough tae potty train." He looked down at his son with another grin. "An' tha's no' going tae happen fer at least a year, aye? Daddy'd keep yeh small forever if he could, but all little reapers have tae grow up eventually."

Eric ducked his head to kiss the infant's chubby little cheek, his whiskered chin tickling Matthew's skin. "Hopefully ye'll grow up big an' strong...or smart an' limber like Mommy. Fer now, we'll jus' worry 'bout getting ya fed an' tucked in so Daddy can get some sleep."

He thanked Ronald once more, before leaving the couple alone and heading to his and Alan's tent with his son. He let Matthew finish his bottle before he placed it in the washbin to be cleaned later, and then he put the baby in the little bassinet and set it close to the bedding so that it would be within easy reach if Matthew started crying while he slept. Eric stripped down to his underwear and lay uncovered in the bedding, finding the May temperature just a bit too warm in this area to bother with covers. They had come down out of the mountains and spring was giving way to summer, bringing with it the warmth that most everyone in their camp welcomed. Eric, however, was a bigger fan of cooler climates. With a sigh, he absently reached out to rock Matthew's bassinet for a bit until he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

-To be continued


	24. Chapter 24

A few weeks passed and Alan was on his way to recovery from his ordeal. He had moments of confusion and depression, but Eric was quick to explain things to him or do little things to cheer him up. If he couldn't bring a smile to his face then he would just hold him and remind him over and over again that he loved him, reassuring him that their days would not always be so dark. They moved closer and closer to England, and between Alexander's snooping and the Undertaker's sources, they monitored the situation at London Dispatch closely. In the beginning of June after reaching the shores of England, Lawrence Anderson called for a meeting to decide whether to move in on their old division and attempt to retake it. As the Undertaker predicted, they were spread out too thin in their campaign for domination of the reaper world, and London headquarters was finally vulnerable to attack.

The decision was unanimous. It was time to gather up the Undertaker's army of Bizarre Dolls, create mass portals that would open up in the sewer system beneath headquarters and begin the attack. Those who remained behind in the camp were responsible for creating the portals so that those who would be fighting could teleport to the agreed location without expending their energy. Should their forces begin to fall, it fell upon the leaders of the strike teams to send an emergency signal back to their camp alerting the rest of their community so that they could evacuate to safety with the families and children.

Everything was carefully planned, but each of them knew that sometimes even the most meticulously detailed plans could fail. Couples spent one last night in each other's arms, some of them preparing for the possibility of both perishing in the fight while others prepared to send their husbands and wives off to war.

* * *

Alan shook his head as he lay atop his half naked husband, "I don't like the idea of you rushing into battle without me." He muttered. They had had this conversation before, and Alan had agreed to stay behind with their baby and help behind the scenes with communications. The technical team, lead by Alex, had developed a secure way for them to keep in contact with those going out to battle. It would help them strategize as things happened, keeping all groups updated.

"We're partners... we have always worked together."

Eric caressed Alan's face lovingly. Their son was being watched by Jenna Coleson tonight, so that he and Alan could have some intimate time together before the big day. "I know, sweetheart. It feels weird tae me too, tha thought of going off tae fight wi'out yeh at mah side. One of us needs tae be here wi' our son though, in case anything goes wrong. I wouldn't want him being raised by non-family if we can help it."

He lifted his head and he kissed Alan's nose. "Dun' look like tha', lover. I've got no plans tae die on ya. If anything, knowing yer both back here waitin' fer me will give me incentive tae fight harder an' be more alert."

He ran his palm over Alan's back in a slow glide, feeling the subtle variations in the skin where the Thorns had left faint scars. "Yer mah heart, an' so long as there's strength left in me tae do it, I'll always come back to ya."

"Eric..." Alan slipped his arms around him, "I don't know what I'd do without you. You are my heart and strength. You are my savior, husband, and partner... and...I..." he trailed off, his lips locking with Eric's and his eyes closing, "Just... know I'll be begging you to be careful way too much until you are safe back in my arms again." He whispered.

"I'll do mah best," promised Eric.

He kissed Alan languidly and he began to swell in his briefs. They hadn't made love yet since getting married; mainly because Alan was too heavy with child and then the trauma of his ordeal with the Thorns so shortly after giving birth required recovery and rest. Additionally, they had been abstaining simply to avoid having another accident. Much as Eric liked the thought of having a big family with Alan, he didn't want to get him pregnant again until their living situation was more ideal and he certainly didn't want to get him knocked up again so soon after having their first son. Ronald, however, had proven to be their salvation. He'd generously given them one of his special pills and told them to "go to town and have fun". Eric knew how important those pills were to Ronnie, and he also knew he had a limited and shrinking supply of them. It was probably the most thoughtful gift anyone could bestow upon him and Alan right now.

Eric took his time with it though. They had the whole night to enjoy one another and he wasn't about to jump Alan's bones like some caveman after waiting this long to be with him again. He nibbled the smaller man's lips and he let his fingertips glide over Alan's back in a sensual caress. "I'll have Ronnie an' Will tae watch mah back," reminded the Scotsman softly, "an' it might no' be tha same as having yeh at mah side, but I trust 'em both."

"I know..." Alan signed and sat up, looking down at Eric, simply soaking in the way he looked in the dim light, "But I'm allowed to worry about my handsome Scot being out there without me." he trailed his fingertips along Eric's pecks, a light blush on his cheeks. "Sweet Scythe, I love you..."

Moved by the passion in Alan's statement, Eric sat up and positioned Alan so that the smaller man was straddling his lap. Putting his arms around him, Eric kissed Alan deeply, his own quietly desperate passion rising to the surface. His hands stroked Alan's back and shoulders as his lips and tongue teased, cajoled and frolicked.

Moaning, Alan slid his hand into Eric's hair and the other arm up his back, his head tilting so that he could enjoy Eric's mouth on his neck. "Mmmh...want...to see if we can do this again without hurting ourselves or getting pregnant again?" he whispered into the air heavy with romance.

Eric nodded, sucking lightly at the skin of Alan's neck. "Gods, ya dun' know how bad I've wanted it, lover."

Actually, he was pretty sure Alan _did_ know. Time and time again, he'd demonstrated to Eric how easily a light, sensual touch could get him worked up. It made Eric feel good to know his desire for his partner was mutual, but damned if it hadn't been a frustrating year for them both. He hadn't even been able to mess around much with Alan since being reunited with him—first because of his injuries and afterwards because they were both worried about harming the baby. Even on their wedding night they'd done no more than kissed and caressed.

"Tha' reminds me," murmured the Scotsman thoughtfully, his hands sliding around to Alan's front. He smirked at him as he began loosening the drawstrings of Alan's pajama pants. "We ne'er had a proper honeymoon. Maybe tonight we can make up fer tha'."

Alan flushed and lifted himself up to assist in removing his pajamas. "Is there anything special you want to try with me?" He asked. He, after all, had no suggestions. He wasn't an innocent virgin any longer, but he was still innocent in the way of sexual interactions. If left to what he did know they'd kiss for hours, touching and trying the basic position with him on his back.

Eric thought about it. "There's a few different positions we could try, an' there's also..."

He grinned, suddenly inspired. After all, the oil Ronnie gave to them was flavored, after all. He leaned over to the side where their box of toiletries was stashed and he opened it to locate said oil.

"Ya could let me slather ya wi' this an' lick it off tha' sweet little body o' yers, fer a start."

Alan flushed, "I-I thought that was so that you go in more easily and with less pain! It's not edible...is it?" he asked, eyeing the rose oil. Though, Roses were edible, now that he thought about it, though he'd never tasted one, himself. And if Eric wanted to try it, then Alan could find no objections.

"...Just read the label to make sure it's actual rose oil and not some fake stuff."

Eric checked the label, now that his spouse called it to his attention. Since they hadn't had the opportunity to use it more than once, he hadn't really examined the contents. Upon realizing that it actually _wasn't_ edible oil as he'd thought, Eric let out a sigh.

"Ah, damn. So much fer tha' idea." He set it aside and he put his arms around his spouse, winking flirtingly at him. "Doesn't mean I cannae still lick yeh all over, though."

He demonstrated that fact by leaning in and running his tongue over Alan's throat in a slow, moist glide. "Mmm."

Gasping, Alan tilted his head back and allowed Eric's tongue to glide all the way up from his shoulder to his chin.

A dream... everything was like a dream in that moment. Thorns were gone, he had a son with the man he loved, and that very man was holding him close, touching him, kissing him...tasting him... If it weren't for the impending battle, it would have been all too perfect.

And he was overcome with both love and worry for his husband.

Wishing to express it, Alan gripped Eric's strong shoulders and tilted his head forward and to the side to press kisses to the Scotsman's neck, trailing them down his shoulders and backing up so he could venture further, helping himself to the taste of Eric's body as he moved ever downwards until his jaw line brushed up against the hard, twitching member of his husband.

Only then did he glance up to read the look on the Scot's face.

Eric's expression was one of awe that he would have found ridiculous, had he seen it himself. He'd never been with anyone that moved him so much...inspired such passion in him. His breath released with a shiver and he whispered Alan's name. He parted his thighs further and he stroked Alan's soft brown hair, looking down at him with anticipation. He hadn't expected his shy, inexperienced partner to try such a thing without prompting, though Alan had shown him more than once that he could be a firebrand once provoked.

"Gods, ye'll kill me," Eric breathed, even as he longed to feel Alan's lips on him down there.

"Rhea, I hope not. I want to keep you around." Alan teased lightly in a breathy voice. He moved shyly, reaching to take hold of the base of his shaft. Alan had never really done this sort of thing before and he bit his lip and took a deep breath as he leaned in and then kissed the blushing tip. "Tell me what you like...I'm new at this..." he admitted before taking the head into his mouth and ran his tongue around it in a slow circle.

"Ah, gods...yer doin' jus' fine on yer own," gasped Eric, thighs tensing involuntarily. He swallowed again and he kept stroking Alan's hair. "Those lips...tha' tongue...Alan..."

Alan didn't respond. Not with words, at least. Taking Eric in deeper. He could only go about halfway down before he felt the urge to gag, so he stopped there and slid back up towards the tip.

Eric groaned softly, the pleasurable ache spreading through his groin, hips and stomach as his partner lovingly sucked on him. He broke into a sweat as he watched Alan's head begin to bob slowly, his lips sliding up and down his length. He'd all but forgotten what it felt like to be sucked off and what Alan lacked in experience, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. Eric began to pant softly and another groan burst from his throat when his spouse's tongue curled around the underside of his shaft.

"Al...Alan...ah gods...keep it up an' ye'll finish me," he warned softly, releasing the smaller reaper's hair to grab hold of the bedding.

Alan's face heated right up into his ears as he continued, his hand lying on Eric's inner thigh as he bobbed his head. He wasn't worried. He knew Eric was a man fully capable of more than one round, so completion now wouldn't end their evening.

Over and over again his soft lips and slick tongue caressed his lover's sex until he'd achieved his goal. The taste, however, took him by surprise and he pulled back, getting the tail end of Eric's completion squirting onto his face.

Eric's loud cry of gratification filled the air, and it took him a moment to realize he'd gotten his spunk all over his partner's face. Still gasping for breath, he hastily grabbed the first thing within reach—Alan's discarded pajamas—and he wiped the mess off the other man's face.

"Sorry, lover," he panted in embarrassment. That really wasn't the best way to finish when it was Alan's first time giving a blow job, and Eric hoped it didn't turn him off. He'd tried to warn him but it still crept up on him, in the end.

"Jus' felt sae good," excused the Scotsman with a sheepish grin.

"I..." he shook his head as his lover cleaned him up, "You took me by surprise is all. I wanted to make you feel good." he pulled himself back up along his body and kissed him.

"Oh, tha' yeh did," assured Eric with a breathless chuckle. He put his arms around Alan and he reciprocates his kisses. "Mmm, tha' was great. I wasnae expecting it, but surprises like tha' I dun' mind."

He slid his hands down Alan's back and he let them settle on his bum. Tracing the smaller reaper's tailbone with languid fingers, Eric kissed him again.

"Tonight's special...I want it to be one to remember." Alan whispered against his lips, "I love you."

He pulled Eric into a deep kiss, wrapping his arms and legs around him to lock him in place against his own nude body.

Eric returned the kiss with lazy sensuality, one hand curving around from Alan's backside to his front. He curled his fingers around Alan's arousal and he stroked it slowly as his tongue fenced with his. Eric began to swell again, his cock stirring with re-awakened passion.

"Mm, tha' dinnae take long," he purred against Alan's lips, "but wi' a sweet, sexy thing like yeh in mah arms, it comes as no surprise."

It only took moments for him to harden again completely and he took his other hand off Alan's rear to reach for the oil. Popping the stopper off with his thumb, he dribbled some of it over the stiff length he was fondling before dripping some over his own sex. Eric paused his stroking to lube up his fingers, and then he resumed as he sought out the crevice between his husband's buttocks.

"Nice an' easy," whispered the Scotsman, carefully inserting the tip of one finger.

Alan gasped, closing his eyes. A thrill rippled through his body as it was quickly reminded of the pleasures Eric had bestowed on him their first night together. Gentle, but thrilling. Eric was an expert on making sure it wasn't rushed and painful.

"Eric..."

He rubbed up against him, pressing their members together as he let his hands wander again, scoping out Eric's now all familiar form. His muscles and curves, the smooth skin and trail of body hair under his fingertips. It was nice being able to press so close to him again. The baby had created a buffer for so long.

"Ah, sweetheart," husked the Scotsman, easing his finger deeper inside of him. Patience was definitely a virtue right now, and he practiced it tenaciously so as not to spoil his partner's pleasure. Eric covered Alan's busy hand with his larger one, encouraging his stroking. He claimed his lips again in a kiss, groaning softly into his mouth.

"Want-you!" Alan gasped, moving a little more confidently, thrusting his hips to add friction between their members. "Oh, Rhea, I never thought I'd be thinking such dirty thoughts..."

He kept imagining what positions they'd try that evening, what games they'd play and what words and moans they'd utter. The inside of his mind reminded him of things he'd overheard in the break room over his years at dispatch. Usually between Eric and Ronald as they compared notes of dates they had had.

Eric chuckled huskily and a second digit joined the first inside Alan's snug passage. "Looks like 'Dirty Eric's' had some influence on ya. I like tha'."

He was starting to get breathless with need again and the Scotsman strove to prepare his partner without rushing it, while at the same time attempting to work fast enough to avoid blowing his load again before they could join. Alan's curious, eager stroking felt too bloody good, and his innocent but sincere passion was driving Eric mad with lust.

"I love how yer still sae innocent," purred Eric against Alan's throat. He sucked at the skin before licking it. "I dun' think ya could e'er be 'dirty', lover...but ya definitely know how tae make a man feel wanted."

He petted the internal gland he found and he pulled back to watch Alan's face as he stimulated it. Eric smiled as the brunet's eyes widened in response to the sensation. "Aye, yeh remember how tha' feels now. Mm, I love tha way ya blush when I hit it jus' right, Alan."

He knew pillow talk tended to embarrass Alan at times, but he just couldn't seem to help it.

"E-Eric, why..?" Alan gasped, his whisper hitching in a small cry when Eric touched him just right as he tried to speak. He moaned out louder than he intended and promptly hid his face against where Eric's shoulder met his neck. "...You talk so...dirty..." he husked.

"Ya bring it out in me, sweetheart," chuckled the Scotsman. He leaned in again to nibble Alan's earlobe and he wiggled his fingers firmly inside of him, pleasuring the little gland without mercy. A low, carnal growl rumbled in his throat in response to the reactions he was getting and he bucked into his lover's hand, letting him know with his actions how much he appreciated his touch.

"Ahh-ah!" Alan's control over his voice started disappearing as Eric worked his magic inside him. His strokes grew jerky and irregular as he struggled to keep concentration. But he kept going, determined to keep Eric's body happy until they finally joined together.

Eric was panting for breath and fighting for control by the time he felt confident enough to withdraw his fingers and cup Alan's hips. "Do ya want tae try riding me, lover? Ya might enjoy having more control o'er tha thrusting an' how deep yeh take me." He kissed Alan's throat and nuzzled it before adding: "an' we can switch tae ano'er position anytime ya like."

Alan nodded, whimpering at the loss of stimulation. He let Eric grab his hips and guide him into position over Eric's throbbing sex, and quickly realizing what to do, he lowered himself, cheeks flushing brighter as he felt Eric at his entrance and he pushed down.

"Ahh-hh!" He gasped as the resistance gave way and Eric's tip was inside him again for the first time since that day they tried to make love and ended up tearing the Scotsman's stitches. A shiver ran up his body as he closed his eyes, pausing to adjust as Eric's sex was larger than his fingers.

Gripping Eric's arms, he started to move down more when he was ready to do so, glad his husband was being patient with him and not taking over to thrust up too fast.

"Oh, Alan..." Eric's voice trembled with passion, and he clenched his jaw and tried to relax. Supporting his spouse with both hands on his hips, he stared into his faintly glowing eyes and he took a deep, controlled breath. "It's been too long, sweetheart. Lugh, I forgot how amazing ya feel."

Alan's response was a loud gasp as he got as far as he felt he could and paused again before he let Eric guide him back up slowly, and then down again, testing the pleasures as he grew used to it so that they could speed things up. But as they did, Alan felt thrills rush through him.

"Gahh-ahn- _Eric_!" His head dropped back as they hit a decent speed and rhythm.

Confident that Alan had found his pace and no longer needed his guidance, Eric claimed his lips in a deep kiss and he embraced him. He rocked with him, delving gently but insistently inside of him as he rolled his hips. He felt complete now, joined with the reaper that had so easily captured his heart years before Eric even made a move on him. If it weren't for the severity of their situation that day the Scotsman drove his partner to the edge of the city to drop him off and urge him to vanish, he might not have even kissed him. He'd never really told Alan how deeply he respected him, or how unlikely he thought it would be that he'd reciprocate his attraction. He'd been a player back then and he knew Alan didn't approve of his conquests, even though he never said anything judgmental about his lifestyle.

"Love ya," moaned Eric in a fit of felicity. He knew his spouse was already aware of that, but he probably didn't know that Eric had never spoken those words to anyone else before. The connection they shared was amazing, and the deep bond forged upon speaking their vows had only made it stronger.

"K-Ki-" Alan gasped in time with his movements before giving up so he could better speak his mind, "Kiss me!" He demanded, cupping Eric's cheeks between both hands before pulling him in against his soft lips, his bottom settling in Eric's lap, slowly sinking to the hilt as he continued his pause in motion. He wasn't normally so demanding, but he thought he'd try a new way of letting the man know what his heart was screaming with every beat. He moaned, enjoying the lip lock as he slipped his tongue in past Eric's lips.

Eric's rumbling growl of delight rumbled in his chest as he kissed Alan back as requested. He put a little more forced in his upward thrusts and he grabbed the smaller reaper's buttocks, beyond the point of self-restraint. He allowed his husband to dominate the kiss for a while, stroking his exploring tongue with his own and softening the pressure of his lips on Alan's. It was a fine line of balance...a demonstration to show Alan that he was willing to allow him to call the shots while still maintaining his own assertive nature.

It was probably a good thing that they were lip-locked, because Eric's groans were fast on the verge of becoming bellows. As it stood, the noises of pleasure he was making got trapped in his partner's mouth as he drove himself into him, ever mindful of any changes that might indicate he was causing discomfort. So far, Alan seemed to be enjoying the hell out of it. Eric himself was grateful to see his shy lover gaining confidence. One of the best things for him in any given sexual encounter was to experience enthusiasm from the one he was with, and so far Alan had always delivered on that account.

Alan's noises were smaller, but just as loud, muffled only by the kiss. As Eric thrust into him, his short noises grew longer and louder as his body began to bounce in time. It began to get so rough that Alan bit his-and Eric's tongue, though not too hard. Gasping, he pulled out of the kiss, not wanting to repeat the accident. Rather, he hid his face in Eric's neck, crying out unrestrained against his skin as his hands ran over his chest, nails scraping his skin lightly.

"Gods...ah gods...Alan!" Eric's husky cry filled the tent and probably alerted everyone within twenty feet of what they were up to, but he felt no shame in that. He was making love with the love of his life—as many in their camp were now doing—and he doubted anyone would find fault with that. He couldn't get over the feel of his husband's touch or the sound of his sharp, helpless cries. He gripped Alan's smooth bottom almost desperately, guiding his motions and driving harder into him.

"Ah, hells!" Eric groaned, at the very edge of his release. He retained his tenacious hold on his bliss, somehow managing not to blow his load. It felt like it was shifting through his entire body, though. It was destroying him in the best way.

"E-Eric-please," Alan begged when his breath could manage more than a cry of pleasure, "T-touch me, I feel so close!"

He remembered the feeling from the night he'd gotten pregnant with their son, and knowing he was on the verge of utter bliss, he wanted Eric to coax him the rest of the way. In return, he hugged the man with one arm, and with the other he reached back and around to fondle the Scotsman's family jewels.

"Fu—" Eric somehow managed to bottle up his mounting expletive and he let go of Alan's right cheek to grant his wish. Curling his hand around the smaller reaper's flushed arousal, he began to jerk him off. "Lover...fer tha love o' gods...you're sae hot..."

He started to twitch inside Alan and he bit his lip until it bled, desperate to hold off just a little longer. It was a battle doomed to failure, though. He'd simply gone for too long without and Eric tensed beneath Alan, his breath exploding helplessly as he bucked inside of him and filled him.

"Shite," gasped Eric, still thrusting beneath his husband. He stroked his thumb over the head of Alan's erection as he gave up his seed to him, hoping his lover wasn't too far off.

Luckily for Eric, Alan wasn't far behind. Before long, Alan's back arched, throwing his head back as a final cry ripped from his lips, his entire body inside and out twitching as he spilled over in sweet, sweet release. He waited for the waves of pleasure to settle before he leaned forward again, collapsing against Eric's chest.

"Eric... Oh Sweet Death, Eric..." he whispered in a sore, broken voice.

"Aye...well said," panted the Scotsman with a breathless chuckle. He could completely empathize with Alan's sentiments. It was just as good as he remembered and he knew it would only get better each time. He caressed Alan's sweaty back, his own body glistening with beads of perspiration as well. He missed the winter, but this encounter was definitely worth working up a sweat. He kissed Alan's forehead and he sighed, rocking him gently in his arms, his softening length still wedged inside of him.

"Let's jus' stay like this fer a while," he suggested. "Feels nice."

Alan nodded, relaxing against his lover, "I love you." He hummed, closing his eyes. They would need to get cleaned up and dressed, and he'd take the pill Ronald had given him before going to get their son for the rest of the night... but they needn't do so now. "As long as we don't fall asleep and forget to clean up..." he murmured.

"Aye, and dun' forget tae take yer pill," Eric reminded, his thoughts mirroring Alan's.

As much as he wanted to have a big family with Alan, they'd just had their first and he didn't want to have another accident while they were still fugitives. Maybe in a year they could try for their second...but one of two things needed to happen, first. Either they'd have to succeed in taking back Dispatch, or those currently in power would have to drop the charges against them and allow them to live as civilians. Eric couldn't see the latter happening, and he knew that most of the agents amongst them wouldn't be satisfied working a civilian job. Being a Dispatch agent was hard, grueling, dangerous work...but it took a certain kind of reaper to do it, and once you earned your place as a collector, it became a part of you forever.

The Undertaker was one of the very few reapers Eric knew of that had retired of his own accord. Previous retirees were generally agents that suffered mental or emotional trauma and were no longer considered fit to reap. Some might argue that the old mortician wasn't stable enough for the job, but Dispatch had commissioned his help before in the past when too short staffed, despite his status as a defector. Though he seemed quite mad to most, his skills in both combat and reaping were still superior to most—Eric learned that the hard way when the man kicked him clear across the room that day.

"Alan," he murmured, "Do ya think we could e'er be happy livin' as civilians, if it came tae cutting some sort o' deal wi' those bastarts tha' took o'er Dispatch?"

He didn't mention that such a deal would likely only be possible if the strike teams failed and got either killed or captured. If captured, odds were they'd be executed or imprisoned—perhaps for life. Still, seeing as the remaining refugees were just civilians and parents with children, it was possible that those in power might be lenient.

Alan bit his lip. He had nothing against the idea of living as a civilian, And given his addiction that had given him Thorns, perhaps it would be the best option for him, personally. He didn't want to risk it all again after Eric had done so much to save him, with the help of Undertaker and Alex. Though the side effects from the cure were starting to lighten up and he was lapsing into less fits of confusion and depression, he had a family, now. A handsome, dedicated husband and an adorable son.

But still, there would always be a part of him that would long for his old job at Dispatch. Becoming a full-fledged reaper changed reapers. They gained a personal connection to not only the scythe they used, but death itself. They may not show it, but they cared about the souls they collected. Alan had just cared too much. He hadn't the talent to separate his emotions from the job.

"To tell you the truth, Eric..." Alan tilted his head to meet his gaze, "I think that I should choose that lifestyle when we return to our realm. I love being your partner but I can't help myself from...contact with records. I got so good at it. I knew how to sneak it even with you a few feet away. I knew how to keep it under control so they didn't overwhelm me completely. I knew how to stop it within seconds if you started to turn around... You worked so hard to save me from my own mistakes, I shouldn't be exposed to that temptation again, even with you there by my side. I don't want to get Thorns again."

Eric felt a lump of sadness form in his throat. He knew Alan was right, but he himself had failed to notice his partner's contact with the cinematic records all those times. If he had, he would have put a stop to it. Alan's safety was more important to their family than the two of them being a team in the field again, and the unspoken truth they were both facing was that there was a chance Eric might not even make it back. He didn't want to think of that right now, though. He just wanted to concentrate on Alan and the bond they shared, for tonight.

"Whatever happens," he whispered, "Ye'll always be in mah heart, an' I in yers. We made a strong, beautiful son together an' as long as I know yer both safe, I'll carry hope in mah heart an' fight tae get back tae tha both of you, an' then we can rebuild our lives. Whate'er ya decide is fine by me, an' I think yer idea's a good one. I'll miss tha hell out o' collecting wi' ya, but we're still partners in life...now an' forever."

Alan pulled himself up enough to kiss Eric's lips in response, Eric's soft length slipping out of him from the movement. His lips softly caressed Eric's with little wet smacks. He didn't need to put it into words that he was worried about what was to come.

"Partners in life...is better than partners on the field." he whispered, "It's a more than fair trade."

Eric held him close and he buried his face in the crook of Alan's neck, breathing in his scent. "I ne'er thought I'd have this. No' just tha relationship. Ne'er thought I'd have _you_. So many times I watched ya pouring o'er files an' reports, lookin' so serious at yer desk. I might've had tha reputation of a player, but tha scariest thing fer me was tha thought of walking up tae yeh an' finally telling ya how I felt. I couldnae help staring at ya sometimes, Al. I think ya caught me once or twice an' ya asked if somethin' was wrong."

He chuckled at the memory and he pulled back to smile at the smaller reaper. "I came up wi' some bullshite excuse, usually. Truth be told, I couldnae stop thinking of what it'd be like tae finally kiss ya."

"I would have never guessed you'd have even the slightest interest in me. Alan confessed, "You, or anyone. I certainly wasn't the type off person you took out every Friday, and I sort of just...thought I'd live alone and die alone...until you kissed me. I was so confused and hung up on why you would do such a thing, all the while feelings I hadn't recognized I even had hidden in my heart for you started bubbling up inside me. So...unlike you, I can't say when I fell for you... if it was before or after the kiss, I'm not sure."

Eric smiled. "Doesnae matter now. We're together an' maybe it's fate tha' I didnae act on mah feelings sooner. I dun' care how it happened...I'm jus' glad it did."

He cupped his spouse's face and he pressed soft kisses to his eyelids. "Thanks fer being mah conscience...an' mah closest friend an' partner in everything."

"And mother to the son you didn't expect to have?" Alan smiled, kissing his jaw before reaching over to the make-shift table by the bed and taking the pill off it to swallow.

"Tha' too," agreed Eric. He reached for the water canteen and he offered it to his partner to help him wash down the pill. After Alan finished with it, Eric took a swig himself. Reluctantly the Scotsman eased his husband off of him. He kissed Alan on the lips and he whispered a promise to him. "Be right back wi' our son, sweetheart. Jus' relax."

"Don't!" Alan called after him before swallowing, cheeks growing red all over again, "...Don't forget pants." He remembered all too well the time he had managed to streak all the way to William and Ronald's room.

Eric wasn't nearly as modest as his lover and he realized just as he was about to duck out of the tent that it hadn't occurred to him to put a stitch of clothing on. More for his husband's sake than his own, the Scotsman delayed his exit for long enough to pull on a pair of pajama bottoms. He smiled and winked at his blushing spouse as he pulled aside the tent flap.

"Be back in a few, lover. Hold tha fort."

Alan gave him a smile and got to work cleaning himself up before locating his pajamas and slipping into both the bottom and the top. He didn't care for sleeping half naked, personally, He liked having a shirt on to keep him warm, even if it was hot out. It was almost a security thing for him.

* * *

"Ahh...love...bloody hell!" The Undertaker finished off with a groan, shortly after bringing his lover to completion. Hair pulled to one side and spilling over his left shoulder, he lowered his gasping lips to Grell's to kiss them softly. "You make this ol' bloke feel alive, lovely. I couldn't say where I'd be right now, if it weren't for you."

He kissed Grell languidly before trailing his pale lips over the fair, smooth skin of his lover's face. It was ridiculously blissful...a thing which he was unused to experiencing with anyone. He and Grell hadn't actually made love together again before tonight and the Undertaker enjoyed every moment of it.

"Darlin'...I know I've kept saying I might not be the best 'Papa' material," he murmured against Grell's throat, "but I've been thinking on what y' said. I mean about us possibly trying again."

Undertaker lifted his head and he gazed down at Grell. "Did you mean that, m'dear?"

Grell gave a short nod. "I did."

He sighed and moved to fetch the pillows that had fallen to the ground, dusting them off before using them to prop himself up. "I'm not exactly the perfect motherly type, either, Unnie. I'm not like Allie is. I don't have protective tendencies, and I have many flaws. That being said, it has still been a dream of mine to have a child of my own with the soul my soul was meant to be with. Loosing our daughter was a huge blow, but I'd like to try once more... and with any luck, we won't create a _complete_ psychopath together."

Undertaker chuckled, and he kissed his way up Grell's fair, lean body. He paused to kiss and nibble his ear before he spoke again. "I think any child of mine is bound to have some issues, but it'd also be a strong and self-sufficient li'l nipper. Especially with you as the mother."

He ran his long black nails through Grell's flowing tangled tresses, gently combing out some of the snags. The Undertaker sighed and he cuddled up to his companion, resting his cheek against Grell's chest. "I love you, li'l rose. Have for some time—I'm sure you know. If we get though this I might even consider giving up the embalming business to raise a family with you."

He smirked and he ran his nails over Grell's torso. "That's how much I adore you, love. I never considered myself the family sort, but now..."

He left it at that, softly trailing off. He hadn't even known how to handle it when he first found out his lover was expecting. He still didn't believe he was good father material, but he missed the child he'd never gotten the chance to meet alive. Burying that tiny thing had been a sort of murder on him.

"You wouldn't have to quit making your coffins and working with the dead, just because you become a daddy," Grell said, running his hand up along Undertaker's back as he held him, "I know you love those coffins and your shop. Besides, you wouldn't want me to be the only one supporting our family, would you? Away and working all day with you at home with our kid? We can both work and manage the time without baby evenly."

"Actually that might be the ideal plan," agreed Undertaker. "Since I work from home anyway, someone will always be there to take care of the nipper. I do most of my business in the evenings anyway, so you'll usually be home from work by the time I have to start working on clients."

It felt a bit strange to actually be planning a family. Undertaker had gone from swearing off even the notion of ever reproducing to eagerly discussing a future filled with babies and domestics. He was certainly a changed reaper, even if most couldn't see it on the outside. Before they could welcome any bundles of joy into their lives though, he and Grell had to survive the coming challenge and change their world into one more suited to raising children.

"See? No need to toss aside the job you love like a hobby, darling." Grell smiled and kissed the crown of Undertaker's silver head. "We can have our cake and eat it too, should tomorrow and the days to follow turn in our favor."

Undertaker sighed and closed his eyes, turning his head to kiss Grell's chest. "Tomorrow. We'll change the face of our world before the day's through, or we'll at least make a big enough dent in their armor to make 'em vulnerable. Once word gets out someone's fighting back it might inspire more reapers to resist those buggers."

The biggest problem was how many Shinigami didn't even realize that Dispatch was being slowly taken over by hostiles. That was where Alex was going to come in, if he could manage it. If they could secure London dispatch, they would bring the hacker over to that side to try and broadcast proof of their victory over all of the main channel signals. Exposure was probably the opposition's biggest enemy. If they could get the word out and show everyone the truth, the Revivalist's empire would start to crumble whether they held London Dispatch or not.

"I love you, pretty rose," murmured the Undertaker, cuddling Grell. "Wish I'd come to that realization sooner."

"No arguments there!" Grell huffed, "Would have saved us a world of pain, maybe not all..." he trailed off and sighed. "But you have and I love you back, my Unnie-bunny. We'll get through this thing tomorrow together."

Undertaker chuckled sleepily and he kissed Grell's chest again. Within moments he was snoring softly, wrapped in a lover's embrace with the reaper that had somehow captured his heart so completely.

* * *

-To be continued


	25. Chapter 25

Early the next morning before the sun even began to rise; the rebel encampment was filled with activity. Those who were taking part in the raid dressed in the form-fitting, stretchy black material for stealth and ease of movement. Those who were to stay behind assisted with preparations, ready to create the portals for the strike teams so that the fighters could conserve their energy for the battle to come. All around the camp lovers and spouses embraced and kissed. Babies and children were lifted and cuddled as one or both of their parents got ready to join the ranks of the fighters. One such parent was Eric Slingby, and he stared down at his little son as he cradled him.

"I promise both of yeh I'll do my best tae make it back," whispered the Scotsman. He bent his head to kiss Matthew's soft, downy hair. "Yer both mah whole world." He turned and bent over a little to kiss Alan on the lips, who was standing beside him.

Matthew gave a high squeal, reaching his tiny hands up and grabbing onto the short hairs of his father's beard. He grinned and kicked his legs, simply happy to have a full tummy, a fresh nappy, and the sight of his father above him. His tongue poked out and he started to blow bubbles on his lip.

"Bubbles. Bubbles definitely mean he wants his daddy to return safe." Alan smiled, rubbing the boy's soft arm with the back of his fingers, "and I agree. Making it back safe is better than making it back, barely. Be careful, Eric. I'll be here on communications, helping as much as I can."

Eric sighed softly, loathe to leave his family but determined to do his part in making the world a better place for all of them. He relinquished the baby to his spouse and he kissed Alan once more. Reaching into the pocket of his black leather jacket, he withdrew the black beanie he'd stuffed in there. Fitting it over his head, he tucked his hair into it so as to make him more difficult to spot. He smiled for his spouse and then he looked over to the portals being formed, where the other participants of the strike force were lining up to go through.

"Guess I'd better get goin', sweetheart." He stepped back from Alan and he shot one of his infamous, cocky winks his way, smiling more brightly as he stepped in line with the reapers on Lawrence Anderson's team. Taking his place behind Will and Ron, he called out to Alan. "Mind tha fort for us, lover. We'll celebrate tonight. Ye'll see."

"Just be careful!" Alan called back, cradling their son in his arms, comfortably.

Ronald whistled, shaking his head, "Man, I don't think I could stand being in Al's place right now...or yours." When Eric looked at him he gave a smile. "I'd rather Will be beside me either way. Fighting or no."

"I would to," agreed Eric softly, "but we've go' our son tae think of an' there's also tha defense of tha camp. Alan might be a gentle soul, but he's good wi' his scythe an' there needs tae be a few bodies here capable o' defending tha camp—especially tha children."

William nodded and lowered his gaze. "I feel the two of you have made the wisest decision. Humphries has a good head on his shoulders and as you have observed; he is a good fighter. I feel confident in leaving him as one of the reapers in charge of evacuation and defense, should the enemy strike this camp."

Ronald sighed. "I guess, but still, I wouldn't be able to do it. I want to be able to Watch Will's back. This is really dangerous, you know? Even with Undertaker's Doll's on our side." His hand wandered to Will's, giving his gloved hand a squeeze. "If anything bad were to happen that I could have prevented..."

"Now, now," admonished Lawrence when he overheard part of the conversation, "let's not jinx this, lad. If you go in thinking that way you'll find it hard to concentrate on what's happening around you."

Fabian—who was standing in the other line with the Undertaker's team—spoke up as well. "Focus on the mission and not what _could_ happen. You are one of the top marksmen and we cannot have you distracted by..."

The tall blond Dane trailed off, his gaze focusing on something else. Eric turned to follow the direction of his stare and he smirked when he saw Alexander Jeffries approaching. The hacker's shoulder-length auburn hair was unbound but he wore a jaxon hat on his head. He strode toward Agent Olson with purpose in his eyes and everyone watched curiously, thinking he was about to argue about the decision that he remain behind in camp. Instead, Alex stopped before Fabian, reached up to cup the back of his head and pull him down for a kiss—a deep one.

Eric whistled softly and looked away, while Will busied himself making a show of checking his watch. Finally, the Undertaker spoke up when Fabian's line started moving and the Dane was still standing there lip-locked with Alex.

"Get a move-on, Viking," chastised the Undertaker. "You're holding up the line and you had plenty of time to suck face last night."

Fabian broke the kiss with obvious reluctance. His round-framed glasses were crooked on his face and he nudged them straight. A crooked smile adorned his lips as he regarded the blushing Englishman that had so fervently kissed him. "Your timing is terrible, Alex."

"I know," agreed Jeffries a little breathlessly. "I just...couldn't let you go without doing that. Be careful...all of you." He even included Ronald in that statement, nodding at him in acknowledgement despite the way they'd clashed in the past.

Ron nodded at him in acknowledgement. "I guess that answers that..." he muttered, moving up when the line moved.

Grell hurried out of a nearby tent, hardly recognizable in the form-fitting black, his red hair all tucked up under his hat, and his glasses chain removed. If he was upset over the lack of his favorite color, he hid it well as he rushed over to Undertaker's side. "Tech team said that they are ready when we are."

The mortician gave a nod, and he took a moment to grin in pleasure over the sight of his lover. "I've got to say you wear that well, darlin'." He dropped his hand down to give Grell a little pinch on the bottom, and then he motioned for his group to start moving. In an orderly fashion, they began to step through the portal, with the Undertaker encouraging them on.

Ronald drew in a nervous breath. "Time to party." he said, turning to face the portal he, William, and Eric would be taking.

"Let's get this show on the road." Grell giggled his agreement, "And kick some ass."

* * *

They arrived in the sewers of reaper London, and the Undertaker guided them by memory to the hidden chambers where he'd stored his armies. "Good gods, the stench," uttered Lawrence, putting a handkerchief over his nose and mouth.

"Don't be a nancy on me now," cautioned the mortician with a grin. He held up his scythe and it began to glow. "Easy, now. We let them go in first, so everyone just get out of the way."

William pressed back against Ronald as the rows of stone sarcophagus began to open with a grinding sound. "I'm uncomfortable with this," he announced to his lover softly, though the plan was set and there was nothing for it now.

"I know." Ronald comforted him, slipping his arms around him so he was hugging him from behind, "but we really do need this army. They won't be a problem for us. Just the enemy. Plus, I'm sure Undertaker will clean these things up after everything is done and the dust settles."

"Unnie will," Grell stated. "He knows that even I don't approve of these things."

"Be of good cheer, mates," encouraged the Undertaker with a grin as his undead minions began to emerge from their coffins. "They aren't going to be expecting this and even if they are, they won't be entirely prepared for it."

He began to weave the energy to create the portal that would take the army of undead straight into Dispatch. The plan was to allow the dolls to go in first, and then follow behind with the strike teams. "Bit of help here?"

Lawrence pushed aside his distaste and he joined his fellow ancient, adding his energy to the Undertaker's so that it wasn't all on him. Fabian also assisted and once the portal was stable, the Undertaker left them to it and he went to the other chambers to awaken more of his creations. More than two-hundred bizarre dolls marched through the portals by the time the mortician finished, and the reapers waited until the last troop passed through before following behind them.

* * *

Alexander sighed, still standing near the site of the portals. They'd faded by now, having been held open only long enough for the strike teams to make it through. "Why'd I wait so long?" he mused to himself.

It had been torture to listen to all the sounds of passion in camp, coming from couples making the best of what time they had left with each other. Fabian had been pursuing him for months, but the Dane had an odd way of courting. He knew Alex had social anxiety and he told him plainly that he would not be the one to initiate the first kiss, leaving it up to him to decide when and if it was going to happen. What made Alex hesitate was the other man's warning that when he _did_ kiss him, he should expect to be bedded soon afterwards.

"That's why I waited so long," muttered the hacker, unaware that Alan was within hearing distance of his conversation with himself. "I was scared. He'd be my first and...damn it, I'm such a girl!"

"You are not a girl," Alan said gently, walking over with Matthew in his arms, "and there is no shame in being scared. No shame in waiting until you are ready. I know that right now things feel anxious for you; it does for all of us. But you can't lose faith in him now. Despite the risk our warriors are taking today, Fabian has every reason in the world to return safe. You gave him that. And you can help protect him from here. You have helped our group form a strong communications center so we can help our warriors on the field, and your hacking skills will help us prepare them for any surprises. He'll return and you can pick up where you left off. Trust me," he winked, "You aren't the only one with bad timing."

Matthew cooed then, as if bringing attention to himself; the most solid proof that Eric and Alan's timing hadn't been the greatest, either.

Alan smiled at his son, "But even bad timing can bring the best results."

Alex looked at the baby and he managed a smile. "He sure is cute. Could I...maybe...hold him? I've wanted to ask before, but I was too nervous to."

"Of course. Alan encouraged, slipping Matthew into Alex's arms. "Make sure you support his head, but hold him firmly so he doesn't get nervous. He's not as breakable as some people think."

Matthew grinned around his fingers which he had in his mouth. Alex held him as instructed and he made a silly face at the baby. When he got a favorable reaction rather than a frightened one, he did it again. He chuckled when Matthew made one of those high-pitched noises of delight that babies made when amused. "I don't know much about kids. Never really thought of having any myself. It'll tell ya though; they're easier to get along with than adults...at least the little ones like this are."

Alex looked at Alan. "Maybe it's not such a scary idea after all. So I guess you guys are planning on having more later?"

"Eric wants a large family," Alan nodded, "and now that I'm no longer dying, I'm not against the idea of having one or two more after Matthew is a little older and less dependant on us for everything. Maybe when he's three we'll work on giving him a little brother or sister to play with."

"Sounds like a smart plan to me." Alex handed the baby back to him carefully. "I dunno if there's even a future in the cards for Fabian and me, but if there is I imagine he'd want a kid one day. The pregnancy part makes me uneasy though, and I'm pretty sure I'd...um...be the one to...you know."

He blushed and looked away. Some male reapers couldn't carry at all, so he might be worrying over nothing, but he was pretty damned sure he'd be the one taking it up the bum if and when he and Fabian had sex. "Is it weird? I mean being pregnant."

"It is." Alan nodded, "It's also uncomfortable and restricting, but...wonderful and amazing." The brunet tugged Matthew's bootie back on his foot as it had started falling off, "But if and when it comes time for you and Fabian to have children, talk to him about it. He may be willing to carry if you have problems coming to terms with the idea of being the one. Communication is key and I know it's kind of ironic coming from me as I kept it secret from Eric for so long..."

He smiled, "You're a good kid, and you have plenty of time to adjust to being in a relationship. Just use protection until you are ready for the idea of children."

"Oh, I plan to," assured Jeffries. "In fact I'm not doing it 'till we get access to some condoms or some of those contraceptive pills. You handled your little 'oopsie' a lot better than I would have, for sure."

He sighed and he checked his watch. "The attack will be starting soon. I'd better get on the computer and start monitoring enemy Dispatch's frequency. You're welcome to come with but it can be pretty boring." Alex smiled. "Of course, now it might get a whole lot more interesting. I'll bet they're going to shit themselves when they see the kind of army that's about to storm the gates."

In this matter, Alex was to report enemy orders to the leaders of the strike team so that they would know their every move. He would be listening and typing at the same time, taking down everything he heard. He'd also be monitoring the text communication and alerting the teams to any incoming reinforcements.

"Of course I would like to. Daddy's out there, right, Matthew?" he cooed down at his son, who smiled and babbled up at him. "If I can be of any help, don't hesitate to ask. I'm not an expert like you, but I do know a fair amount about computers."

"I could use all the help I can get," sighed Alex. "The worst part about my job in this camp is finding someone to keep an eye on things when I've got to pee."

They walked to the community pavilion tent together and Alex took his place on one of the bean bags next to his computer. He set the device on his lap and he powered it up. "Well, you know how the operating systems worked in the office? Mine's basically the same thing, but with a few extra features. Pull up a cushion and I'll show you some of the basics. I'll be doing most of it of course, but it sure would be nice to take a break now and then. I mean my helpers are fine for the simple stuff but this is all too involved for most of 'em, and the one I would have trusted with it is with the strike teams."

Alan nodded knowingly and set up a place for him to sit comfortably next to Alex, also making up a safe, comfortable place for him to lay Matthew down if he needed to. "I'll just need to take breaks, myself, to feed and Change Matthew."

"That sounds fair to me," agreed Alex. He pulled up the program he was using to monitor enemy Dispatch's communications, followed by another one that would allow him to keep in touch with the strike teams. He put on his headphones and he plugged the jack in before adjusting the sound and the attached microphone. "All right, now this window here is the media window for the bad guys' verbal communication. We've got to keep it turned on at all times. This other one is for our guys and it stays muted—but if you look at the little box under the sound bar you can read everything they say over the secure frequency in text. If there's anything to report to them we just type it in and an automated voice speaks for us on their end."

Alex pulled up yet another window and he moved it beneath the first one using the touchpad on his laptop. "Finally, there's this little guy. Most of the time it's just boring stuff about reaping reports but sometimes they send out silent orders. That's how I first found out they were closing in on us in Denmark. Is any of this too confusing to you, or do you think you could handle it for a few minutes if I need to get up and go pee or get a drink?"

"I think I have it." Alan nodded, looking at the screen. It was a good thing reapers could read quickly with their eyes—a side-effect that came from watching records—otherwise he'd be afraid he'd miss something in one of the text boxes.

He pushed his glasses further up his nose, "Yes, I'm sure I can handle this until you get back."

Alex nodded in satisfaction. "Cool, then let's get this non-party started. It's going to be a long day." His brows shot up when he heard the first alarmed broadcast coming through from the enemy frequency. Someone was shouting that an army of undead creatures had come into the lobby through the front door, and they kept moving even when hacked apart. "Uh, maybe it won't be such a long day after all."

* * *

"Now for the other portals," Lawrence said once the army of dolls was through the ones they'd made for them. The idea wasn't to go in _with_ the bizarre dolls, but to use them as a diversion and keep the enemy too busy dealing with them to fight off the rebel Shinigami. If they could take control room in the Records department and hold it, they could bring Alex in to hack the mainframe so that they could send out a broadcast exposing them. Anderson began the process since the Undertaker had made the last one, and it was a draining task to repeat, even with assistance from other reapers. Their stealth portals required greater concentration and effort than ordinary ones.

William soon joined Lawrence's efforts, casting a brief glance Ronald's way as the portal formed. Fabian began creation of the other and Eric helped with that. Once both portals were formed, Undertaker tugged his hat down lower and he readied his scythe with a fiendish grin. "Strike team one, let's carve a smile in some faces."

They rushed through, coming out the other side in the Dispatch department. Undertaker was first through the portal and Grell was close at his heels. They had the element of surprise and what few enemy reapers left in this department were swiftly overwhelmed by the Undertaker's team. There was little room for mercy or negotiation, but each team had been instructed to give quarter to any enemy agents that surrendered and take them prisoner instead. After all, not everyone with enemy Dispatch was a founding contributor to the Revivalist movement. Some were victims of circumstance like Grell and Eric had been, and they served only because they had no other choice.

Undertaker cut down those that resisted like wheat, impaling two against the wall with his sotoba while lopping off the head of a third. Cinematic records flowed freely and seeing as they had no time to gather them right away, the team had to avoid the reels for now and focus on taking down all opposition first. Fabian took a shot in the arm from one of the enemy bullets, but the Dane shrugged it off and fired back at the culprit, taking him down with two shots. He cut down another with his axe-scythe while the Undertaker and Grell cleared a bloody path, their team-mates following their lead. Undertaker took particular delight in cleaving the imposter wearing Lawrence's face in two.

"That's for my mate, you impersonating blighter!"

When the entire floor was cleared out and all enemy reapers were either dead or taken prisoner, the Undertaker turned on his communication device, already set to the secured channel they were using. Rather than communicate directly with the other team, the broadcast went straight to Jeffries' computer. It was the best way to ensure that the enemy couldn't tune in and hear any of it.

"Team 'Mortuary' here. We've cleared the Dispatch department floor and surprise, surprise—amongst the casualties was the bloke wearing Anderson's face." He kicked the corpse for good measure. "Looks like he won't be stealing anyone else's identity again. We'll clean up, lock up the four prisoners we took somewhere they can't easily be found if any of their fellows come looking, and then start making our way down."

The artificial voice Alexander had programmed for the channel replied after a couple of moments. "I'll convey that to the other team. Great work! Be careful, because enemy Dispatch knows you're in that department now and they're sending up more agents to try and stop you. Can't send too many though, 'cause they've got their hands full with the dolls and Anderson's team. Copy?"

"Yeah, I copy." To the Undertaker it felt weird to use such jargon, but it was the standard way to let allies know that messages were received. He looked at his team, who were just finishing up with collecting the records they'd spilled. "We're due for a bit of company, ladies and gents. Hurry it up so we don't get caught with our britches down when they get here."

* * *

Meanwhile, Anderson's team had made it into the sub-department of records, on the same floor as the Research department. Lawrence and Eric made it to the control room and took out the guards there, and then they shut, locked and barricaded the doors while their team fought to clear floor of enemies. William and Ronald got separated from the rest of the team and they found themselves forced to duck into a room for cover to avoid whizzing bullets.

"Damn it," cursed William. He used a mirror with an extendable handle to look around the corner. It shattered before he could get more than a glimpse of the numbers they faced, taken out by enemy gunfire. He slammed the door closed and he locked it. They had recognized him as the former head of the department. He'd heard one of them yell it and he knew that they were going to push to take him down or take him prisoner.

"We've only moments at best before they break this door down," he informed Ronald as he dug out his communications device. "There are too many of them for us to handle alone, so our only chance to avoid death or capture is for the rest of our team to turn back for us, or to teleport out of here."

He conveyed their location and situation to Alex, and the hacker immediately reported it back to Anderson. "Help's on the way," said the artificial voice. "Hold tight."

William was about to respond, but then something heavy crashed into the door. The enemy was trying to break it down. One of them shouted for Will and Ron to surrender and the former supervisor compressed his lips and made a quick decision. Help would not arrive quickly enough. Will began to form a portal that would take them directly into the control room—and there was no time to expend the energy to make it one of the special, untraceable variety.

"Go through, Ronald. I shall be right behind you."

Ronald hesitated. They had agreed not to leave each other's sight, even for a second. "We go through together." Ron shook his head. The portal was too small for side-by-side, but if they held hands they could slip through as close to the same time as possible.

He held out his hand, demanding William take it, "We go through together, or we stay together."

With his other hand, he pointed his gun at the door, ready to shoot if need-be.

William didn't argue. The hair at the nape of his neck was standing up and he suddenly had the feeling that he was never going to see Ronald again. It made no sense, but he didn't have time to question it. He kissed his lover swiftly and he urged him to go on through, still holding his hand. The door burst open just as Ronald stepped through the portal and William turned and fired quickly, hitting the first two enemies and putting them out of commission. Unfortunately, there were six more behind them and they rushed through the door before Will could follow his partner through the portal. One of them fired on him and William cried out as a slug struck him in the wrist, making his hand go numb. His pistol dropped to the floor and he summoned his death scythe, lips white and compressed in pain.

Attempting to wield it one-handed with a bullet lodged in his wrist proved to be an impossible task, and he kicked out at his opponents as they surrounded him. He was seized and he struggled against their hold as they began to drag him away from the portal. Ronald's arm came back through and William was forced to make a quick decision born of love he'd never felt for anyone before. He released Ronald's hand, prying his fingers off until Ronald lost his hold on him. The sudden break in resistance must have made Ronald overbalance on the other side, and his hand vanished through the portal with the rest of him.

William banished the portal so that the enemy couldn't go through after his lover, and he put up an impressive fight. He knocked one of the enemy agent's teeth loose and he broke another's nose before one of them hit him hard upside the back of his head and knocked him out.

* * *

Lawrence turned and took aim when the portal formed in the room with him and Eric, but he relaxed when he saw that it was only Ronald. It then occurred to him that the young man was alone and looking quite frantic.

"Where is your partner, Mister Knox?"

Ronald had been halfway through when William had halted, and he felt himself being pulled back, making him think that they had broken through and grabbed William. Ron had given a tug, leaning towards safety hoping to win the game of tug-o-war...but just as he gave a firm tug, he felt William's fingers slide from his grip and he fell, alone, through the portal which then closed.

"No!" Ronald pushed himself up, reaching out to try and catch the portal and reopen it, "William!"

His mind buzzed with a strange, desperate panic, he didn't even realize he wasn't alone in the room, or that he'd been asked a question.

"Ronnie," called Eric, "Snap out o' it an' tell us wha' happened!"

"If he is alone then that means Spears must still be in the room they reported being trapped in," guessed Lawrence. He pulled out his communication device to urge the team to work faster and get to William before it was too late. Alexander relayed the message and Eric tried to calm Ronald down.

* * *

"Oh shit," muttered Alex. He looked at Alan with wide eyes. "They got Spears. Strike team two just reported they teleported out with him before they could get there. So far they're holding headquarters but I'm betting those goons are going to try and use Mister Spears as a hostage or try to get him to tell where our camp is."

If they found out where the most vulnerable members of the exiles were, they could go after them and attempt to use them all to force the cooperation of their fighters and leaders.

"William's one of the last men who'd crack and let slip important information." Alan frowned, "...What worries me is that he'd resist too much."

He shook his head, not wanting to think of what would happen to the man, "At any rate, I'll report this to the board members who are still here. We should at least get the civilians moved to another, safer location. A place they can't drag out of William if they manage to break through his walls...or...find out another way..." he swallowed, thinking about them reading his records. He gathered Matthew in his arms, "I'll be back soon, keep communications open."

* * *

"No-they got him! They got him!" Ronald cried out as Eric stopped him from opening a new portal.

"Ronnie, stop an' think," urged Eric as he restrained the frantic young reaper. "Ya dun' know where they took him! Wha' good is it going tae do yeh tae portal tae where he go' nabbed?"

Lawrence listened to the orders coming through over communications, and he informed his companions of what he was hearing. "The Undertaker is attempting to track the portal's destination. If he succeeds, we shall send a team on a rescue mission."

He grimaced as it occurred to him that the enemy was likely taking William to another base—one that would likely be too heavily guarded for them to succeed in a rescue. He didn't have the heart to mention that very real possibility to Ronald, though. He trusted that Spears would give the enemy nothing they could use against them. "Just try to stay calm, lad. We're going to do everything in our power to get him back."

"Shit..." Ronald stopped struggling and looked down at his hand that had held William's, "He let go. Why'd he let go? I could have pulled him through safe. Father Anderson—I want to be part of the rescue team!"

"Of course you do," soothed Anderson, "and it can be arranged. First we need to know what we are dealing with and we cannot do anything for William before that."

Eric rubbed Ronald's back comfortingly. "We'll get him back, kid. Will's too strong tae give in no matter wha' they do tae him. Jus' be strong fer him."

Ronald gritted his teeth. He wasn't a patient reaper, and he was feeling anxious already so he knew that if Anderson and Eric didn't want him doing anything stupid, they had better keep a close eye on him. The look he gave Eric made that clear.

* * *

William endured another blow to the face...and another after that. He gagged as he was kicked in the ribs and he heard and felt one of them snap. With his wrists cuffed behind his back, he could do nothing save curl into a fetal position to try and lessen the damage. His assailant grabbed his hair by the roots and dragged him painfully to his knees, forcing his head back to look up at him.

"We take no pleasure in this, Mister Spears," said the black-haired reaper. "Tell us where the rest of your group is hiding, and this can all end."

William just glared silently at him, his eyes watering due to his hair being pulled.

The enemy agent glanced at his superior and the man nodded. He dragged William over to a chair and he bound him to it. He produced a device that Will recognized as a taser, and William braced himself. It did no good. He bit his tongue hard as the volts arched through him and made him twitch, and a pained sound gurgled on his bloodied lips. It lasted for a count of five before the torturer stopped, giving Will a chance to catch his breath and recover from it.

"Tell us where they are and declare your allegiance to our cause, William," urged the leader of his captors—a man with pale blond, wavy hair. "You needn't die. Nobody else needs to die, in fact. All that we want is for all to be united under our vision. A better future awaits all Shinigami, if you and your friends would just cooperate."

William's mind was racing, and he knew with certainty that his companions had no chance of saving him. His abductors had taken his glasses, so he couldn't see well enough to try and determine where he was. Even with the bond between him and his allies, he knew that any attempt to rescue him would be a suicide mission, at best. He also knew that they would continue with this torture until it either killed him or they decided he was not worth keeping alive, and reap him themselves. They would attempt to use him against his compatriots first, though.

There was one other option, however. The thought of it frightened him inwardly, but he thought of Ronald and his resolve grew. Not even reapers wanted to die, but he didn't want to die badly...and he wasn't going to make it out of this alive unless he cracked. Who said it had to be authentic, though?

"Wait," he rasped when his tormentor activated the taser again. He bowed his head as if in defeat. "I shall cooperate. First I wish to publicly announce my alliance to your cause and explain to watchers why I have chosen to do so, however. They need to understand...and perhaps I can persuade them. Once this is done, I shall relinquish the information you require."

The leader regarded him with vague suspicion. "You certainly don't seem the sort to give in so easily, Mister Spears. I was expecting you to be more stubborn."

William gazed back at him stoically, his vision even further impaired due to one eye swelling shut. "I'm weary of running and hiding. We _all_ are. This was our final effort to dethrone you, and obviously it is doomed to failure. There are children to think about. What good do we do them, raising them in the wilderness and always looking over our shoulders? You have won. So long as you vow not to harm anyone in the camp, I will give up the location to you. Just do as I ask...please."

The enemy agents looked at each other in thought, and after a moment the leader spoke again. "I shall discuss this with the board. Clean up his injuries and make him more presentable, in the meantime."

William swallowed and he gathered his courage, preparing himself to say the words that would likely be the very last he ever uttered.

* * *

The Undertaker got the location of where they'd taken William and he summoned ravens to scout the Birmingham headquarters. He cursed when they sent him a mental image of the heavily fortified building and he looked at Grell with a helpless shrug.

"Unless we all want to start measuring for coffins, I'd advise we don't try to bum-rush the place they're holding Mister Spears. Mayhap it's time to move on to the second part of the original plan and make arrangements for Mister Jeffries to get here so's we can send out a broadcast and expose the enemy for what they are. It could be Will's only chance. Once the reaper world knows, we'll have some backing t' negotiate the release of Spears. They wouldn't dare kill him for fear of a public uprising after that, love."

Grell nodded eagerly. After all, William's safety was one of the conditions of his contract when he was working for the Revivalists. He'd do anything if it meant William, Ronald, and now, Undertaker's safety.

"I sure hope Ronnie's not going to do something stupid before we get the chance." he muttered as an afterthought. The boy was head over heels in love with the man, and he wasn't the kind of kid to think first. "Let's get our broadcast on air before Ronnie has that chance."

"Indeed." The Undertaker lowered his mouth to Grell's for a quick kiss, ignoring the smear of blood as their lips met. Both of them were splattered with the vital fluid of their enemies but he was used to much worse...and so was Grell. "Let's get our carcasses down t' the Research floor, folks. We've got work to do yet, even if we've won the facility."

He began to summon a portal that would take them directly to that floor, and a couple of other reapers—Grell included—helped him so that he wouldn't expend too much energy in doing so. They made it through in moments, filing out of the portal in a line to greet their fellow rebels. Undertaker took Grell's hand and he walked with him to the doors of the control room. The ancient knocked on the door and pressed his face against the little window on it so that Anderson could see it was him. A couple of seconds later, Lawrence opened the door to let him and Grell inside.

"I'm pleased to see that your team suffered no losses, old friend," said Lawrence. "What were your findings?"

The Undertaker took off his hat and he shook his shaggy silver head, holding the headwear by the brim. He glanced at Ronald and he felt pity for the obviously distraught young man. "It isn't good, chap. I know where they've got him but if we go after Will now, we might as well be signing our own names on the death lists. I think our best bet is to publicize this struggle quick as we can, before these blokes can try t' use Spears as a bargaining chip. They'll have to keep him alive if they don't want a revolution on their hands, by my reckoning."

At that moment, the screens in the control room flickered and a broadcast came on—evidently over several channels. Lawrence turned to look and his eyes widened when William T. Spears' beaten, swollen face appeared on the screen. Enemy Dispatch hadn't wasted any time broadcasting their success in capturing one of the most prominent, well-known members of the rebel uprising.

_"Citizens of the realm, we have in our custody one of the leaders of the terrorist group that has been committing treason and violence against Dispatch. We can be merciful, however. Mister Spears has agreed to denounce his alliance with the terrorists and he wishes to urge his associates to do the same."_

The speaker paused before addressing William, who appeared to be seated in a chair with some unknown reaper standing behind him. _"Go ahead, Agent Spears. Say what it is you want to say."_

Ronald had been upset by the news that there could be no rescue attempt for William, and he'd been about to suggest he go alone as only one member could slip in under the radar with any luck. But his words froze on his lips the second he saw his lover's face on screen.

His eyes widened and his stomach clenched painfully. "Will!" He pushed his way past the others so that he could be close to the screen, reaching up and touching the glass where Will's image was.

He didn't like this—not one bit.

William looked at the camera, his expression betraying no fear. _"My fellow citizens, I have been instructed to announce my allegiance to the Revivalist movement and to betray my associates, so that they might see reason and abandon the resistance against those who have come into power. It is with a heavy heart that I say to you now that there is no peace to be had. No compromise. These people are relentless, ruthless and without so much of an ounce of credibility..."_

* * *

Back at the encampment, Alex had a small crowd of people surrounding him, watching the broadcast over his computer. He'd slipped his headphones off but he'd left them around his neck so that he could still use the microphone if needed, and he shushed everyone when people started murmuring.

"Shut it! I've got to concentrate!" There was only so much he could do from there, but he'd be damned if he'd allow them to cut the broadcast off if he could help it. He saw the barrel of a gun being pressed against his former boss's temple, and he groaned.

"Alan...I've got a bad feeling," confessed Alex as he did his best to lock the signal. He needed to be there in the control room if he was to do anything more.

* * *

Ronald's eyes widened and his heart skipped a few painful beats. "Get that thing away from my lover's head ya fucker!" he cried out at the screen. That was it. He needed to go-now!

"Undertaker! Give me the bloody location!"

The mortician shook his head, his bright gaze fixated on one of the screens. "You'll do no good to him rushing in there alone and killing yourself, lad. They wouldn't dare—"

William spoke again over the broadcast again. _"I have been given the choice to betray my allies or be tortured and die. To that end, I make my peace now and I urge everyone watching to rise up and fight. Do not give in to this tyranny. Resist it. You aren't alone. Myself and others have been criminalized for—"_

William was suddenly struck in the side of the head with the butt of a gun and his head whipped to the side. There was the sound of cursing and someone yelling to turn the camera off, and yet the picture remained. William spat out a tooth and he looked into the camera groggily, a faint, triumphant smirk curving his bloodstained lips. _"Fight. Do not give in. Ronald, I—"_

The barrel of the gun pressed against his temple again and before William could complete his sentence, the weapon went off. Will fell to the side, his body going limp. The man holding the gun pointed it at the camera and shot...and then the picture went to snow.

"Dear gods," whispered Lawrence, hardly believing what he'd just witnessed. "Mother of death, they just publicly executed him."

Ronald was as silent as the dead. His eyes widened and overflowed with tears, and his heart felt like it had stopped completely. Pain spread through his entire body and soul as what he'd just seen sank in. He couldn't hear anything but a staticy ringing in his head, couldn't feel anything but cold dread, and couldn't see anything but his lover's death playing in his mind over and over again. A large, painful lump formed in his throat, choking him.

Once processed, the blond let out a desperate, painful cry that ripped his voice into a sound that was unrecognizable.

" ** _NOOOO-WILLIAM!_** " He lunged at the screen, knocking the expensive equipment off the table, and the monitor exploded, its screen shattering and electric sparks flying upwards.

Grell reacted first, ignoring his own tears in order to grab Ronald before he hurt himself, pulling him into a tight hug, simply letting the boy scream out in agony. He knew better than anyone that Ronald needed to let it out.

He looked up at Undertaker. "He can't go on fighting like this. I'm taking him back to Base," he said over Ronald's wailing.

The Undertaker stood still and bewildered, his mouth hanging open as he stared up at one of the five remaining monitors. It took him a moment to register what his lover said, and he snapped his mouth shut and nodded. "Yeah...do that. Get the boy out of here. Lawrence..."

His voice wavered and he coughed. Bloody hell, he'd _just_ said that those fools would never publicly execute William, and yet they had. It was a stupid, stupid move on their part. They'd just made a martyr out of Spears and they'd buggered up their campaign royally by doing so. He suspected they already realized that and soon, the hornet's nest would stir as they worked to correct their mistake. He and his fellow rebels were even more vulnerable now. The enemy would be desperate to take them out and they were few in numbers as it was. Even with his dollies, they couldn't hold against an all-out assault.

"I am here," assured Lawrence in a grief-stricken voice. "What do you suggest, my friend?"

"Get that fellow Jeffries here quickly," answered the mortician, his own voice ragged with surprised angst. William had looked up to him...admired him. He'd utterly failed the boy and the only feeling of utter helplessness he could compare to this was when he delivered his own dead child. "We've got to beat these nasties to it and send out a broadcast of our own, if we can. We need to decide who's going t' make the speech to the realm and get it put out there for the public to see."

Lawrence considered him for a moment and his sympathetic gaze slid to Ronald as Eric created a portal and Grell supported the collapsing, grief-stricken young man in his arms. "Honestly? I believe you are best suited for it."

" _Me_?" Undertaker sputtered. "In case you've failed to notice, I'm not the most diplomatic chap."

"Perhaps not," reasoned Anderson, "but you _are_ the most influential and famous of everyone here. Believe it or not, if the public sees you publicly declaring your support of the rebellion and decrying what the reaper world just witnessed, it will have a larger impact."

The Undertaker sighed and he watched Grell take Ronald through the portal that Eric had formed. "Bloody hell, I hope you're right, mate. It's been my experience that I just tend to make things worse when I try to speak publicly, but mayhap this time will be the exception. Let's send for Alex and get this show on the road."

* * *

Alexander was stunned; like everyone crowding around him. They'd all seen the broadcast of William's execution, and he couldn't even pretend it was a hoax. They'd all seen his cinematic records spill...seen the splatter of blood, brain matter and skull bits erupt from the other side of his head when that fucker pulled the trigger.

"S-someone grab this," he gagged, pulling the computer off his lap and thrusting it blindly away. His stomach was rolling and he hastily yanked his headphones off to scramble away from the shelter. He started heaving before he even made it out from under the shelter and he fell to his hands and knees in the grass, emptying the contents of his stomach there.

While he was retching his guts out, a portal opened in the center of camp and Grell came through it with a sobbing Ronald.

Alan handed his crying son—who had been startled by the sound of the gunshot—off to another reaper, hurrying after Alex to make sure he was okay. But the appearance of Grell and Ronald distracted him from that task. He _knew_ Ronald wasn't okay. Alan had little doubt that Ronald had also seen the broadcast.

"Get him over into a wagon," he told Grell, his voice strained with his own emotion. "We have everything important packed and ready for transport just in case, and as they have seen... well, as they likely know our location we need to evacuate..."

Ronald let out another loud sob, his legs giving out and causing Grell to pick him up bridal-style.

"Understood." Grell nodded. "They need Alex to port in to put out our own broadcast. I'll stay and help get everyone to a new location." He rushed Ronald over to the wagons and set him inside one of them, covering him with a blanket to shield him from the chill of shock. Then he took over, commanding the others and getting the portals opening up to the next location.

Alan took his son from the reaper he'd handed him to as the man hurried his own family to the portals, then he turned to Alex. "Are you alright?" he asked as gently as he could, rubbing his son's back.

Alex wiped his mouth and straightened up, nodding. "Y-yeah. Sorry. It was just such a shock. B-boss Spears is...he's..." He shook his head and he took his glasses off to wipe his eyes. "Shit. How's Knox? This has to be murder on him. If it were Fabian I...damn it, I can't do this. I've got to get moving."

Sniffing, Alex patted Alan's shoulder in a show of gratitude and he replaced his glasses on his face. "They aren't getting away with this. I'm gonna do all I can to make sure of that."

"Ronald's...not so great. Do you want me to go with you? I can hand Matthew off to another couple to take him to the new location." Alan offered. He knew he had to make the decision quickly. The supply wagons were already gone and not many of their group remained.

Alex bit his lip indecisively. Humphries' company would be of comfort to him and he knew that Alan would love to see his spouse and be at his side. He wanted to see Fabian himself, and he knew the man had suffered a gunshot wound in the fight. Alan and Eric had made a deal that the former stay with the camp and out of combat, though. He didn't want to get in trouble with Eric. The man was scary when he got angry and right now, he was surely already angry enough as it was.

"I...I'll leave that up to you," he finally said. "Just make sure you tell your husband it was your idea and not mine, if you come along. I like my limbs intact."

* * *

Eric was in a state of numb shock. Of all his work associates, William had been the one that seemed most infallible. He'd thought Spears would be the last one to fall. How wrong he was. Maybe there was a chance. Maybe if they got to him quick enough and got him into surgery...

But that was no ordinary bullet they'd fired through his skull. It was a death scythe bullet. They'd all seen his cinematic records spill. He needed to stop kidding himself and face reality; there was no coming back from a fatal shot like that. Eric's breathe quickened and his eyes burned. Poor Ronnie...the kid loved Will so much, and now this. In a sudden fit, Eric slammed his fist into the wall with a bellow of helpless rage. Lawrence whirled in alarm and he went to him before the Scotsman could deliver another blow to the blameless wall. The Undertaker started to intervene as well, but seeing that his friend had a handle on it, he returned his attention to writing down his speech.

"Eric, stop this," urged the older reaper, putting himself—foolishly perhaps—between Eric and the wall. He held up his hands in supplication and he looked into Eric's blazing, grief-stricken eyes. The Scotsman's fist hovered in the air, halted in mid-swing with tears in the glove from the blow he'd stricken. Lawrence took hold of the fist and Eric's other hand comfortingly. "Now is not the time, my boy. We've an entire community to think of, and we must hold it together if we're to keep them safe—including your family. Please, just calm down."

Eric swallowed hard and bowed his head. He nodded and drew a ragged breath. "Aye. Vengeance an' grief'll have tae wait."

Lawrence released his hands and patted his shoulder. "Good lad."

They sensed a portal forming and all three of them tensed, but they soon recognized the energies and they relaxed. Eric's eyes widened when his spouse stepped out of it with Alexander. He went to him and he hugged him, choking back bitter tears. He didn't even ask why Alan had come after they'd agreed for him to stay behind with their son until they were absolutely sure the threat was neutralized.

Alan didn't offer up an explanation either; simply wrapping his arms around his husband.

"Why?" was all that Eric could manage. Why would the enemy publicly execute a prisoner they were trying to use as leverage? They didn't even give him a trial, and they had to know how badly it was going to reflect on their organization.

"Uh, I think I can answer that," said Alex. "I checked their frequency before we left and they're in an uproar over it. Seems the plan was never to execute him but the guy holding the gun on him panicked when they couldn't cut off the broadcast, and he shot him to...shut him up."

Alex's voice broke and he looked away. "So that means it's _my_ fault he's dead. I'm the one that locked their transmission so they couldn't end it. They could have just cut the power off on the camera, but I guess they didn't think of that...and now..."

"Wasnae yer fault," Eric said huskily.

"That's right," sighed Lawrence. "You cannot hold yourself responsible for other people's stupidity. Shutting off the camera would have been the sensible way for them to end the broadcast if they could not do it through normal means. This was a cold-blooded act of murder, and now the entire reaper world knows that this organization is a ruthless, bloodletting conglomerate. It is a tragedy, but we must not let William's sacrifice be in vain. Alex, please prepare the broadcast. We need to get it sent out while this terrible event is still fresh to our realm."

Alex took a deep breath, and he nodded.

* * *

-To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure my writing partner would agree that this was a painful chapter to write.


	26. Chapter 26

While Alex worked on gaining control of every major broadcasting channel in the realm, Lawrence pulled the Undertaker aside. "I had a feeling it would come to this," he murmured.

The mortician gave him a perplexed look. "That William would end up with his brains splattered on the wall?"

Lawrence sighed. "No, my friend. I mean I had a feeling that you would be the one to deliver the message to the world. I know that we had planned for me to do it, but your fame is an advantage. You are a legend, Undertaker. Perhaps we should make you look more the part."

The Undertaker tilted his head curiously. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"When we go live with this broadcast," explained Lawrence, "what do you believe would be more influential on the public? A shaggy-haired mortician in a liripipe top hat, or Legendary Death?"

"Oi, I like my hat."

"No offense intended." Lawrence smiled nostalgically. "I'm merely suggesting that you let them see your face. Let them see the reaper that inspired a monument in the Great Library. Let them see a living legend on their television screens. It is time for you to return to what you once were, if only for this purpose."

The Undertaker stared at him through the veil of his bangs. He parted his lips, then shut them. He wanted to argue the point he'd made simply because he had lived as the mad mortician for so long that he wasn't sure he could fall back into the role he'd abandoned. Anderson was right though. If they wanted to make a lasting impression, better to broadcast a celebrity face than one that most citizens might not recognize—no matter how distasteful the Undertaker found it.

"Eh, fair enough point," he finally conceded, "but there's one problem with your idea, chap. We don't exactly have access to a barber shop to cut and style my shag. I don't have my old glasses, either."

Lawrence clucked his tongue and he reached into an inner pocket of his trench coat and he retrieved a case, handing it over to the other ancient. "Did you really think I would allow them to be destroyed after you left, old friend? I've been holding onto them ever since. Of course, they were in two pieces when they were brought to me but I repaired them."

In disbelief, the Undertaker opened the case and he stared down at the glasses he'd cleaved in half himself. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Anderson sighed and retrieved his pipe from another pocket. "Would you have wanted them back? Would you have worn them into battle, after altering the way you fight and having grown used to it? I knew you would refuse them if I offered them to you."

"And you just happened t' be carrying them on you this whole time." The Undertaker was now regarding his friend with suspicion. Then Lawrence produced another case while sucking on his empty pipe and the mortician's brows shot up when he opened it to reveal a pair of scissors. "And scissors. Lawrence, you stinker. You had this planned all along."

"I came prepared," answered the spectacle maker. "You were clearly reluctant when I initially presented the suggestion that you be the one to make the announcement, but I brought these along anyhow just in case you changed your mind. I am very glad my instincts proved correct."

The Undertaker sighed. "Well then, let's find somewhere with better lighting so you can sheer me like a sheep. Just don't take too much off the top."

~xox~

* * *

Approximately a half an hour later, the Undertaker stepped out of Anderson's office with him and jaws dropped at the sight of him. But for the scars, he might have been the library monument come to life. Amidst gasps and murmurs, Eric stood between Alan and Alex and he muttered a soft observation. "This is goin' tae be known as tha night fangirls everywhere screamed like banshees and bled out through their noses."

Alex was staring wide-eyed at the Undertaker and he muttered back without thinking. "I think I'm doing a little fangirling myself. Shit, he looks...wow." He glanced at Fabian standing beside him and he winced. "I...I didn't mean I want to jump him, you know."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," answered the Dane with a smirk.

"Grell may be upset he missed seeing this in person," Alan observed with a small chuckle. Grell loved Undertaker as he was currently, but that didn't mean the redhead wouldn't have gushed over seeing a glimmer of the past. He loved appreciating a good eye-candy. Truth be told, William would have loved to see the sight of his idol back in his full glory, even for a short time. But Alan chose not to mention the lost comrade. They needed to keep focused.

The Undertaker sighed and he looked down at his business attire and the long coat. Evidently, Lawrence had held onto his old uniform too and the imposter that had replaced him never bothered to remove it from the drawer he'd kept it in and get rid of it. Perhaps enemy Dispatch had a mind to make use of it and have him wear it, if they could have convinced him. They'd planned on using him to gain power and followers, and now the same thing was happening in reverse—but the cause was very different, in this case.

"At least it still fits," he grumbled.

Anderson patted him on the back. "You only need endure it long enough to get this announcement broadcasted, chap. You can change right back into your usual attire afterwards. I'm just thankful the uniform was still there."

"How convenient," muttered the Undertaker. It was unfair of him though. Of all the reapers he'd known in his life, Anderson was the one he trusted the most. His friend was not deliberately trying to use him but he couldn't help but feel like he'd been set up. Desperate times called for desperate measures, though.

~xox~

* * *

A little more than two hours later, Jeffries had control of all the major networks and reapers everywhere were complaining to their service providers over the sudden loss of their favorite channels. Internet traffic was halted, the grid having been locked until the rebels were ready to send out their broadcast. It was a personal best for Alexander and while he was quite proud of himself, he was suffering a monster of a headache. So far they were holding London Dispatch. With the help of Anderson and a few other reapers, the Undertaker did for the facilities the same thing he'd done for his shop, creating a defensive field that would prevent all portals save the enhanced sort used by the exiles. It would prevent enemy Dispatch from attempting to portal in the way the allied strike teams had.

In the meantime, the remaining dolls from Undertaker's army were stationed in the lobby, ready to attack anyone they sensed coming in that wasn't recognized as allies in their memory banks. Their master had taken great care to make necessary alterations so that they knew every member of the rebel community and would never be hostile towards them.

With that secured, they set up a camera on a tripod in Will's old office—though with reluctance. It was heartbreaking to film this in the very room that their fallen comrade had once conducted all of his work, but the reaper agents of London would recognize it and it would emphasize the gravity of the situation and empower the Undertaker's speech further.

"All right, we're ready to go," announced Alex. Standing beside him was Fabian, his arm supported by a makeshift sling they'd fashioned for him. "Father Anderson, are you and the Undertaker ready?"

Lawrence nodded. "I believe so. Keep the camera trained on me until I give the nod and step aside."

Alex gave the thumbs up, and then he got behind the camera and held up one hand to count down from five with his fingers. When the countdown ended, he turned the camera on and focused it. He checked the tablet device he had with him to monitor the feed and he nodded. "We're live, sir."

Lawrence immediately began to speak, standing in front of William's desk to block the view of the person seated at it. "Good evening, citizens of the Shinigami realm. My name is Lawrence Anderson and I am—or rather, I _was_ —the head supervisor of the Glasses Department in the London Dispatch Division. By now, most of you have undoubtedly witnessed or heard about a chilling broadcast in which our former Dispatch supervisor was held at gunpoint by the organization that has declared myself and my associates as 'terrorists' and has driven us into exile. To those of you who may be confused, the Lawrence Anderson that has been working here for over a year was an imposter. Many senior officers in several locations have been replaced over the years, in fact. Some of you may have noticed co-workers and superiors behaving oddly over the past few months, and that is because they aren't who they appear to be. The power to alter one's appearance is a gift that not many of us possess, but there _are_ reapers out there who can do it, and the organization responsible for the public execution of Supervisor William T. Spears employed people with those abilities to replace agents and public figures they believed would cause trouble for them.

"This has been going on for longer than I can even guess. The faction calling itself 'Revivalists' has been quietly and steadily taking over Dispatch divisions all around the world, starting with the largest ones and spreading out from there. Most agents never realized the takeover was occurring until it was too late. Some of you may have been coerced into joining their ranks. Others have joined of their own free will. The rest, like most civilians, knew nothing of the takeover up until now. Those who have not been killed or recruited have gone into hiding like ourselves, but today we struck back, and we have succeeded in liberating the London division—at least for now. Some of you London agents may recognize the office in which we are filming this live broadcast. It once belonged to our compatriot, a man whose life was tragically ended in a brutal grab for power.

"I shall now give up the floor to a reaper whom I know you will all recognize, whether you are an agent of Dispatch or not. We've all looked upon the monument of this legendary death god within the halls of the Great Library of reaper London—whether through magazines, history books, television programs or in person as residents or tourists—"

"You're laying it on a bit thick, chap," interrupted the Undertaker, his voice coming through the broadcast from behind Lawrence.

Anderson cleared his throat, his mustache twitching in a subtle expression of annoyance. "Well then, without further adieu, I present to you Legendary Death." He stepped aside and nodded, and Alexander focused the camera on an albino reaper with flowing silver hair and silver glasses. There was no mistaking that face, marked though it was with the scars of past battles. The ancient's cheeks had a pale, faint blush of embarrassment on them and he sat behind William's old desk with his gloved hands clasped over it. He didn't say anything until Anderson—now off-camera—prompted him with an urgent gesture.

"Oh, yes." The Undertaker cleared his throat and he sat up straighter in his chair, deliberately toning down his cockney accent to the more proper British one he used to employ before his defection. Even the tone of his voice was different. It was deeper, more resonant and ultimately sensual to the ears. "I imagine viewers are wondering if this is a hoax. The media has likely been feeding you all rubbish to try and convince you the execution was faked. After all, William T. Spears was presumed dead months ago, yeah? That and just about everything you've heard about our merry little group of fugitives has been a tissue of lies, though. I'm obviously not dead. I've been living in the mortal realm ever since I retired, working as a funeral director. Some know this already, but most don't."

This was the tricky part; convincing the public that he was who he claimed and not an imposter disguised as the Legendary Reaper. After Lawrence's reveal about enemy agents altering their appearances to look like the people they'd imprisoned or killed, it was only natural that people would have doubts.

"I can imagine what some of you may be thinking," Undertaker went on. "If a reaper can change his or her appearance to look just like someone else, how can you be sure I'm Death?" He smirked and he stood up. "There is one thing that cannot be copied, however. True, replicas can be made but the unique aura and reaping song belongs only to the original scythe, and everybody knows that each scythe is inherently different from the next."

The Undertaker stood up and he manifested his renowned death scythe. To prove that it was the original and not a replica, he moved around to the front of the desk and he gave it a practiced spin. The blade moaned through the air in a mournful way, like the wind on the plains. Never in reaper history had another scythe been produced that made that distinctive sound, and it had been documented time after time by history scholars. He stopped twirling it and he gazed intensely into the eye of the camera lens, so that to viewers, it appeared he was staring straight into their souls.

"If that isn't enough to convince you, look into the eyes of Death."

" _Now_ who's laying it on thick?" whispered Lawrence.

The Undertaker heard him and he grinned, but he didn't take his eyes off the camera. "Quiet, Methuselah. This was your idea."

His confidence had visibly increased, and one of the women on the strike team started to fan herself. Lawrence rolled his eyes and refrained from saying anything else. Yes, this had been his idea and he vividly recalled the way other reapers used to be drawn to his friends like flies. Not that the Undertaker didn't have a certain magnetism as the mortician, but there was something about Death that made people breathless. Whether it was the voice, the eyes or simply the aura of power, the man once had a gaggle of admirers.

"Now here's what's going to happen," stated the Undertaker—or rather, Death. He didn't seem like the mad mortician at all, now. "We are going to take back each and every Dispatch division that the Revivalists have stolen, starting now. To those of you out there in hiding, those of you out there trapped by circumstance serving these blighters, and those of you still loyal to old Dispatch, I'm telling you this _will_ happen and the enemy _can_ be driven back. They've lost their secrecy and thus, their main method of conversion. It's time to take back the organization and take back your lives. You aren't alone anymore."

He stepped closer to the camera, his hypnotic gaze still staring into the lens. "As for you, Revivalists...buckle down because Death is coming for you. Each and every one of you that resists will be another notch in my scythe, and in the scythes of my companions. There's no place to hide now. The world knows what and who you truly are, and you'll pay in blood for every reaper you've assassinated or impersonated. Every family you've torn apart. Every friend you turned against each other. Those of you with the sense to surrender will be spared—with the exception of the gunman responsible for executing our comrade. He killed himself when he pulled that trigger. The rest that were present will be dealt every blow they rained upon Agent Spears as recompense for their folly. I'm a mortician, so I'll be able to tell exactly what you did to him before your associate killed him. If any of you have a lick of self-preservation or sense, you'll have William's body delivered to us for proper funeral rites, along with his killer—alive. Be very careful how you and your organization chooses to respond to this. The world is watching you now."

With that said, the Undertaker nodded to Alex and Jeffries turned off the camera and ended the transmission, freeing up the broadcast channels and internet once more. "Wow...that was heavy," observed the hacker, breaking the utter silence that had fallen over the room.

Eric put an arm around Alan, just as awed as everyone else by the transformation of looks, personality and mannerisms he'd just witnessed from the silver reaper. It was like going back in time and seeing him as he must have been in his prime. He still had chills from the speech.

Then the Undertaker banished his scythe, yanked his tie loose and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. "My, my, that was uncomfortable. My poor ol' noggin's throbbing now."

Just like that, half of the illusion was shattered. But it had served its purpose. If the rest of the world was half as impressed as everyone in William's office, the Revivalists didn't have a prayer.

~xox~

* * *

"Ahh~ I don't know whether to be more upset that Unnie showed off his sexy to the world, or that he did so when I was gone!" Grell wiggled in a fit; Alex's computer in his lap as others gathered around to watch the broadcast, which was now over.

Ronald had chosen not to watch it. But he had heard it. He was sitting off to the side with Matthew in his arms as he mourned his loss. Wishing he could have been there. Wishing he could have saved him. Wishing that he had more time with Will, and even…that they had been ready for the idea of a kid. If he'd gotten pregnant, he would have had to hang back and William would have been alone when he got separated from the group. He could have gotten through the portal to safety and would not have been captured at all. It was all his fault. It was because he had been with William in that last moment before his capture… he was sure of it.

But one part of the broadcast had caught his attention, and he stood up, walking over to the group that had gathered around the computer, "If that—that bastard is being brought to us…I want to be there," he announced in his grief-cracked voice. He wanted the executor to know what he had done. The kind of man he had stolen from the world. He wanted the man to see how he'd shattered his heart, and he wanted the man to know regret before he was ended.

Grell looked up at him knowingly. "Are you sure you are up to it?"

"Of course not!" Ronald admitted, "But if I don't, I wont get the chance later…. I…" a fresh wave of tears pooled in his eyes and he turned away, "I need this… whether I'm ready for it or not…"

~xox~

* * *

"Just a moment, Undertaker," Lawrence requested when the mortician started to go back into his office to change back into his other clothes. "I've just had a thought."

The Undertaker turned to look at him. "Eh? What are you up to now?"

Anderson stroked his mustache and he looked his friend up and down, thinking of everyone's reaction to seeing him this way and hearing him speak. "I feel we should delay the change of attire. In fact, I've a proposal for you."

Undertaker groaned. "I've a feeling I won't like this."

"Probably not," agreed Lawrence with a nod, "but it is important. You have a very inspiring presence as Death. Every reaper in that office was clinging to your every word, and I swear to Styx some of them stood straighter by the time you finished delivering your announcement. Perhaps it would be better for the good of this uprising for you to put aside the mortician for a while. You can return to your old way of life immediately once this is all over, but while we are still taking back our organization...well...people _need_ the legendary reaper."

The Undertaker compressed his lips. "Lawrence, I haven't _been_ that reaper for ages."

"And yet there he stood before me in that office," insisted the other man. "I have known you since before you gave up your glasses, friend. You were a bit shaky at first, but by the end of that speech you were the very same reaper I used to know when we were both active duty. Please, for the good of the young ones...continue to be that reaper during this struggle. We stand a better chance if they've got a high morale."

The mortician heaved a sigh and he looked down at the gloves covering his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. "It's been a very long time since I've led anyone too, Lawrence."

Anderson chuckled. "Oh? Funny, leading them has been exactly what you've been doing for all these months. Perhaps not as Death, but they _do_ look up to you and you _have_ fallen back on old leadership qualities you once employed, whether you realize it or not. I'm not asking you to put on an act. I'm merely imploring you to be the man you originally were for a while. You fell into the role beautifully tonight."

Undertaker wavered, thinking of Grell and the baby they'd lost. He thought of William, and of Alan and how close he'd come to death. He'd grown fond of them all and he wanted them to succeed and get their lives back. "Damn it," he muttered.

Lawrence smiled again. "Is that a 'yes'?"

With another sigh, the silver reaper spread his hands. "Can't really see much other choice. All right then, for the rest of this struggle I'll play the part."

Alex approached them in the hallway, looking hesitant. "Sorry if I'm interrupting anything, but you ought to know we had to evacuate camp. Everyone thought it'd be for the best, just in case they started tracking us down to try and get hostages."

"And where did you evacuate to?" pressed Lawrence.

"Uh...I dunno," admitted Jeffries. "Me and Alan teleported here from the old camp. I left my laptop behind too. I shouldn't have done that but after seeing what happened to Spears I just wasn't thinking straight."

"I wouldn't worry," soothed the Undertaker. "I'm sure Grell will send someone t' let us know where they're at, once he's settled Ronnie in."

"I sure hope so," sighed Alex. "I should probably get back there to keep an eye on things for the good of the community, soon. Now that I've set up communications here so you can use them without enemy Dispatch spying on you, I need to synch my system to this one so we can—"

Undertaker held up a hand to halt his rambling. "Neither of us understood a bloomin' word of that, lad. Just do what you've got to do once we get the new location of the camp and keep the enemy from sniffing it out, yeah?"

Alex nodded and gave the death salute. "Yes sir!"

He took off, leaving the two elders alone in the hallway. Lawrence looked at the Undertaker with a smirk. "You see? You are a natural to be their General."

The Undertaker just grumbled.

~xox~

* * *

After spending more time calming Ronald down and getting him to rest, Grell got the other members of the camp to keep an eye on him while he left, portaling into the lobby of Dispatch. The Bizarre Dolls there looked at him, but made no move, allowing him to pass and move onto the rest of the building. He didn't know where everyone would be gathered as it had been some time since the broadcast at this point. But it made things easier that members of the raid were patrolling the halls and guarding the prisoners they had taken. One told him that the leaders were still using William's office, so he headed there.

He wasn't too thrilled with the idea of entering said office so soon after their loss, but he could understand the reasoning behind it. William's memory, though painful, gave them strength. The courage he showed in his last moments had been inspiring. And his office was in a good location to center their hold on the London Dispatch building. Sure, the High board members' offices were much nicer and fancier, but being on the top floors separated them too much from the other departments.

He stepped over a fallen chair, not bothering to right it as he approached the open door to the office where he found Alex, his lover, Eric, and Alan. Anderson and Undertaker must be elsewhere seeing to something important.

"I brought you guys a very late lunch." he said, setting the basket he was carrying on the polished wood coffee table, "And the new camp coordinates so people can move back and forth safely as needed."

"Thank you, Grell." Alan spoke first. He wasn't feeling hungry, but he knew that they did need to eat if they were to keep up their strength. They didn't know when the revivalists would make their move, or what kind of move it'd be. They needed to be ready, despite their heartache.

"We saw the broadcast on Alex's computer." Grell sighed, sitting down, "Hopefully Unnie got through to everyone...where is he?"

"Overseeing tha final cleanup," answered Eric. "They've go' Alex monitoring communications in case enemy Dispatch tries tae contact us. Wi' any luck they'll take Undertaker's advice an' hand o'er Will an' his killer. News has started poppin' up of rioting in some cities like Glasgow. Seems there's also some in-fighting in other divisions starting."

He sighed and glanced at Alan. "I'm wondering wha' we jus' set into motion. How's Ronnie doing, Grell?"

Grell shook his head, "Not so great. He has another breakdown not long after one ends. But holding Matthew seemed to help calm him for a while. He's also requested to be present when and if the man who shot Will is turned over to us. He was insistent on it."

"Who could blame him?" Alan shook his head and sighed. "If...it had been Eric in that situation..."

"I think...he also is blaming himself. He hasn't said anything about it, but...the look of guilt was mixed in his eyes when I forced him to lay down and try to get some rest. It's worrying."

Eric's expression darkened and he urged Grell and Alan out into the hallway with him, away from the ears of others.

"Tha' kind o' guilt is dangerous," he whispered. "I saw tha same thing happen tae one o' mah old coworkers in Scotland. His partner died in front o' him and try as he might, he couldnae prevent it. Tha man died saving him an' his guilt tore him apart. I dun' want tae scare either of ya, but he eventually reaped himself. We need tae keep a close eye on Ronnie from here on out...remind him tha' Will died fer a cause an' he chose tae let go of his hand so Ronnie wouldnae get caught, too. He made tha choice 'cause he loved him, an' he wouldn't want him tae live in guilt and end up hurting or killing himself."

Grell nodded, "I have the camp keeping an eye on him while I'm gone. He's not in his own tent, we have him in with other people so that he can't sneak out so easy. But we need to get him to talk about it. It wont help if he keeps it all in-I should know. I kept my pain in for far too long."

"I'll try to talk to him." Alan suggested, "I plan to go back soon anyhow. I am eager to get back to Matthew."

Eric nodded and he slipped his arms around Alan. "Yeh can probably get him tae open up better than anyone right now. If I can slip away fer a while I'll port there an' have a talk wi' him as well. Ronnie's mah best mate an' I'd like tae be wi' him...but I cannae leave mah post this soon after winning back Dispatch. Maybe when it's more secure I can spare a few hours."

The Scotsman looked at Grell. "Ya should find Undertaker downstairs in Records. If no' he'll be in tha lobby. Better go tell him wha' yeh told us an' give those coordinates so we can find tha new camp. Take Alex along when tha two o' ya go back. He needs tae be on top of making sure tha enemy doesnae try tae move in on yeh while we're securing headquarters here. He's set it up fer us an' shown someone else how tae monitor tha control room, so we should be a'right wi'out him unless an emergency springs up."

Grell nodded and after giving Eric and Alan the new camp location, he left them to the meal he'd brought for them and any other reaper who was there, needing to eat. He then made his way down to records.

The redhead was surprised to find his lover still in the old uniform he'd worn for the broadcast. He'd been sure the man would have eagerly changed back out and into the comfort of his own clothes. But Grell wasn't going to complain, not completely, anyway.

"What's this? Showing off your sexy to others who are not me?" he teased with a pout as he jumped up on the Undertaker from behind, wrapping arms and legs both around his torso, clinging to him. "This can't have been your idea, Unnie Bunny!"

The Undertaker smiled widely, signaling to his associates that he was taking a break. He wasn't given much choice, really. It was either stop for a moment or carry his impulsive red lover around on his back.

"Feeling in the mood for a piggy-back ride, love?"

Despite the seriousness of their situation, the mortician was cheered by his lover's enthusiasm as he struggled to right himself. "I take it you witnessed our little production, yeah? Do you think I went a tad overboard?"

"Mmm, A little." Grell held up his finger and thumb with a small amount of space between them, "But you were impressive. I'm sorry I missed seeing it in person."

He slipped down off Undertaker's back and moved around to face him, "Everything's moving so fast, now..."

The mortician rubbed Grell's back and he did his best to sound reassuring. "That's usually the way it goes in a revolution, m'dear. It's going to be rocky for a while, but it'll eventually smooth out."

He lowered his head to give the crimson reaper a soft, lingering kiss. "It won't always be this way. The world knows the truth now and people are starting to fight back. Half our work will be done for us by the time we've got this place secured enough to move on to the next target. Tell me how Knox is fairing, though. He took his partner's death very hard, and I can't blame him 'tall."

Grell shook his head with a sigh. "Dangerously unwell, I'm afraid. I'm worried that he blames himself for what happened, and Eric agreed that it's not good. But he's also asked to be here if they comply with your demands for the gunman. I'm sure he'd also like to see Will's body. Well, not 'like' but you know what I mean."

The Undertaker grimaced slightly, struggling through his own feelings of guilt. Of all the reapers on the strike teams, he'd never have guessed Spears would be one of the fallen. They'd suffered losses but William's execution was quite the blow to morale. He understood Lawrence's reasoning now, better than ever. The man was crafty, he had to give him that. He knew they'd suffer losses and he'd predicted they would need to counter that with a boost. Undertaker began to see his part in that as more than a burden.

"Grell, if you look into my medical bag I left behind in our tent, you'll find a bottle marked: 'Poppy extract'. I administer it to troubled reapers to help them sleep. It's gentle and it won't make him sick. The bottle has a dropper in the lid. Dose him with three or four drops each night in his beverage so the poor lad can get a bit of sleep, will you?"

Grell nodded. "Anything to help him. I never imagined this would happen. William was too noble for his own good, and now we've lost him... not only that, but Ronnie's heart is broken. I've seen him break hearts, but he's never suffered a loss before."

He signed, running a hand through his hair. "Ronnie's become like a baby brother...I wish I could make the pain go away... lock his broken heart up in a box where it can't get hurt anymore."

The Undertaker kissed the tip of Grell's nose. "You all can't hide the baby mouse forever, love. Ronald may be the youngest amongst the lot of you officers, but he's an adult. No self blame allowed, my dear...and no dwelling on 'could have' or 'should have'. He made his choice t' love Spears, and Will made his choice to sacrifice himself for Ronnie. Best you can do for the lad now is to be at his side. You mentored him as I understand it, yeah?"

"If you can call it that." Grell signed with a nod. "I was a horrible mentor. Abandoned him to run around killing off scarlets, then when I got caught, I was on probation and he was left alone for most of his training. He was practically an officer by the time I came back to work."

The Undertaker shook his head. "Doesn't matter a bit in that boy's mind, I'd wager. You've got a connection with him, so use it to your best advantage. Remind him that he's got a reason to keep pressing on, and not even vengeance will recover what he's lost. I fully intend his scythe to be the one that puts an end to William's killer, but the best thing for him right now is to know he's not alone."

Undertaker caressed Grell's face briefly with his gloved fingertips. "Things can happen in ways none of us could ever predict, m'dear. We can find ourselves in love when we least expect it, and it's times like these when people need to remember what it's like to cherish what they have, when they have it. I think you and I know that better than most."

"I know... I know, but... he's so... broken. I know I had been, too. And I dwelled in it. I don't want him to, and I know that listening isn't what people in mourning do."

The Undertaker thought on it for a moment, holding his lover close. "It's going t' be hard. Always hard, my dear. We're not likely to have an easier time of it for quite a while. He's got you, though. You and his other friends." He cupped Grell's chin and he urged the crimson reaper to tilt his head back. "Do what you've always done, love. Be his friend and his ally. You mentored him. Be his...mum. Mayhap that's what he needs right now."

"His mum..." Grell met his lover's gaze, "Do you think I could? Do you think he'd let me?" The redhead wasn't a mother, after all, let alone Ronald's. He hadn't had the crash course Alan was now taking with Eric on parenthood. But he did want to help Ronald.

Undertaker stroked Grell's bright crimson locks admiringly, and he smiled at him. "I think if there's anyone in camp that could play that role for him now, it's you. I know you've got it in you, lovely. When you found out you were expecting, you were fiercely protective of our nipper. I'm sorry to rip open old wounds, but I think you need t' know you're a better mum than you give yourself credit for."

"I'll see what I can do for him." Grell finally agreed. then he pulled back and looked his lover over again, "So who was behind all this? I'm not complaining. The view is sensational, but I would have never guessed you'd look like this again-did you cut your hair?"

The mortician nodded. "Just a bit. Seems Anderson's got a long memory and he did a surprisingly good job of trimming me up t' look the way I used to. Like it, do you?"

He smiled, some of his tension fading as he embraced his lover. "I'll be the first to admit I'm uneasy with the change, but Lawrence was very persuasive. I s'pose it does some good to morale for me to look like my old self...but rest assured, I'm still the same madman deep down inside."

"It's the madman I fell for," Grell purred. "I'd protest this if it meant you'd lose your crazy mortician side. But it is nice to look at..." he slipped his fingers over the old uniform, feeling the rich fabric. "I dare say if you stay like this for too long I may get jealous of all the eyes on you, Darling."

The Undertaker chuckled and he held Grell closer. "Jealous over li'l ol' me? Mm, could be there's some benefit to this farce after all." He lowered his mouth to Grell's for a lingering kiss, sliding his tongue between the crimson reaper's lips to fondle his. He accidentally scraped the bottom of his tongue against Grell's sharp teeth in the process, but he hardly minded and he knew the taste of his blood wouldn't trouble his lover.

"Just you wait," he promised in a murmur, breaking the kiss. "Soon as we've got a few moments to ourselves, I'll prove I'm still the lunatic you fell in love with."

"You had better." Grell smiled against his lips. "But we have a lot to do before we can enjoy each other, and I have a son to comfort and get through his loss." Reluctantly, he pulled back. "I should get back to Ronnie. I brought food with me, it's up in the office for everyone who get hungry. You should eat something, too, Darling."

"Kind thanks for that, m'dear," answered the Undertaker. He patted Grell's bottom familiarly. "We've a bit of work ahead of us before all is said and done. Keep strong and don't allow Mr. Knox to fall, if possible. I know you'll do him some good."

Grell nodded. "Will you be staying here tonight, or coming back to camp?" Grell was sure he knew the answer, but he asked anyway. "I think I'll move Ronnie into our private tent until he's more emotionally stable. Just so you won't be shocked expecting me to be alone waiting for you."

"Unfortunately, I can't leave until I know we've got this place stable," answered the mortician. "Once that happens I'll be right there at your side. It's going to take a while longer, though. You just keep things buckled down 'till I can join you and be ready to move if any threat comes in."

"Don't let any fighting start without me." Grell smiled, kissing him once more. "You know where to contact me if you need me."

He glanced over at Anderson. "Pops! don't let anyone else touch this while I'm gone!" he said, patting Undertaker's rear, "It's your job since you convinced him to dress all sexy again."

Lawrence sputtered a bit, at a loss for how to respond to Grell's blatant overtures. The Undertaker laughed in delight and he gave his lover a fond squeeze, kissing Grell on the cheek before releasing him. "I promise nobody'll touch my bum except you, darlin'. Me and my arse'll be waiting here for your return.

"Yes...well," mumbled Anderson, turning away to busy himself with other things. "Bring that body over here, please. I shall gather the records."

Undertaker smirked. "Looks as though we've stuck a bee in his bonnet, my love." He sighed and his grin faded a little as he looked into Grell's eyes. "Be careful, my dear. I know we're making light of it but there's still a very real danger of retaliation. Keep on your toes, yeah?"

Sighing, the redhead nodded, "I'll also try to keep my own feelings about losing William under control. We can't afford to have too many of us distracted."

Grell stole one last kiss before turning to portal back to camp where he found Ronald still awake. He moved him into his and Undertaker's tent, giving him a dose of the poppy extract that Undertaker had suggested, spending the rest of the evening holding the blond close and soothingly running his fingers through his hair.

Ronald's battle with emotion was far from over.

Alexander had returned to the encampment as well, along with Alan. While the latter retrieved his son from the family he'd left him with, Alex got on his computer to monitor communications. He found himself watching the terrible video of William's demise again; not because he enjoyed it one bit, but because a part of him still couldn't believe the man was truly gone. A miserable sigh escaped him and though he was not a religious reaper, Alex prayed silently that enemy Dispatch would at least have the integrity to relinquish William's body to them for proper burial.

~xox~

* * *

They had London Dispatch cleaned up by the next day. All of the dead were stored in body bags and the Undertaker saw to it they were identified, buried and listed amongst the casualties. By the time he and his small team returned, Eric had news for him from the enemy.

"They're agreeing tae yer terms," explained the Scotsman. "They're sending someone now wi' Will's body, along wi' Tha agent tha' pulled tha trigger."

Undertaker's brows shot up with surprise. "Oh, really? That happened faster than I thought."

Eric gave a fierce little smirk. "Ya made 'em shite 'emselves. Things're heating up fast an' they're losing ground. They're scared an' ready tae start negotiating."

"Hmm, interesting. Pity for them I'm not in a merciful mood, though. Once we get Will's body and deliver justice onto his killer, we should prepare to move on to the next division."

They'd had a gaggle of new recruits come begging to join their ranks since yesterday and Lawrence took care of assessing their sincerity. News of their success and the Undertaker's announcement had spread, an more and more reapers were flocking to their cause by the hour. The council agreed that their ranks were high enough to hold London Dispatch now and move on to the next.

"Oh, an' we dun' have tae worry 'bout Edinbrough," Eric informed with a grin. "My countrymen took tha' branch back last night, it seems."

"Good to know, chap," approved the Undertaker. "Good to know. Well, I'd best get ready t' meet up with our negotiators. You ought to go and get Mister Knox and the others from camp. They should all be here for this moment."

"Aye," agreed Eric, "especially Ronnie."

He created the portal that would take him to the encampment while the Undertaker prepared to meet with the enemy agents. Eric stepped out into the center of camp on the other side and he blinked away his disorientation, looking around for his husband or friends. He spotted Grell first, on his way back to his tent from the mess hall. It looked like he'd made a sandwich—possibly for Ronald.

"Grell," called Eric, hurrying over to him. "Is Ronnie in yer tent? I've go' news fer him. Technically it's good news, but it comes wi' an emotional price."

Eric glanced around and he leaned in close to the redhead to speak in a lower voice. "Enemy Dispatch is giving up Will's body, along wi' tha gunman responsible for his death. Think Ronnie can handle it?"

Grell sighed, "Honestly, no. But he'd get angry if we don't tell him, and I think that ultimately, that'd be even worse on him. He needs to keep trusting us."

He motioned for Eric to follow him into his tent where Ronald was sitting in the corner, knees tucked up under his chin. Alan and Matthew were there, lending comfort to the blond.

"Here, try eating this." Grell said, sliding the plate in front of the boy, "You need your strength, love. At least try for half." He rubbed Ron's back, though Ronald didn't move or respond.

Spotting that his husband had followed Grell in, Alan pushed himself up and walked over to him, keeping his voice low, "Any news?"

Matthew quickly recognized his father once he'd been brought over close to Eric, and he wiggled, reaching his hands up towards the man with a happy squeal.

Eric smiled down at his son, but it was a strained smile. His gaze flicked to Ronald and he nodded, bending over to speak into Alan's ear. "Supposedly they've agreed tae bring Will an' his shooter tae headquarters. I dunno...maybe it's some sort o' trick, but I guess we'll see. I need tae speak wi' Ronnie about it. I agree wi' Grell...he's go' tae know, even if it's gonna be hard on him." He swallowed as he looked at Ronald's listless expression, feeling utterly helpless and a bit responsible. If they hadn't gotten separated...if he'd acted sooner to get to the couple...

Eric sighed and shook his head. "Al, Grell, give me a minute alone wi' him, please."

Grell nodded, "Try to get him to eat something. He hasn't eaten anything since before the raid on London headquarters. Come on, Allie, I'll help you give Mattie his bath."

The redhead guided Alan out, leaving the two blond reapers alone.

Seconds seemed to stretch on in silence between them before Ronald spoke up.

"I dreamed about him last night...he was here, safe and alive...I don't like waking up to this cold reality anymore..."

Eric squatted down beside him, and he pushed aside the food plate for now to pull Ronald into a comforting embrace. "Come here, kid. Yer shivering."

Even with the warmth of spring coming, Ronald's body felt chilled to the touch. The boy must still be in shock, and Eric sighed and held him close. "Ronnie, William would want yeh tae keep waking up every day. He didnae want ya suffering that same fate when they caught him. I know it hurts. Lugh, if it had been Alan, I...I cannae say I'd be fairing much better than ya. Yer _alive_ though, an' yeh need tae honor Will's memory by staying tha' way."

He kissed Ron's forehead in a platonic gesture of comfort. "Listen...enemy Dispatch has gotten back tae us an' I'm here tae fetch ya, if yeh still want tae be tha one tae carry out the gunman's sentence. They're agreed tae bring Will so we can give him tha funeral he deserves, and they're turning in tha one tha' shot him. Jus' remember, nothin' has tae happen 'till yer ready for it, okay?"

Ronald found his heart clenching at the news. This would be it-the final confirmation that William was gone. He needed it... but he knew it wouldn't be easy.

His body shook and he gripped Eric's shirt like a small child seeing comfort from a father. His breath was uneven and ragged, "I want...I want to be there when they bring him in." he finally was able to voice.

Eric nodded. "I expected as much. We'll be right at yer side, Ronnie. Jus' take whate'er time ya need tae prepare for it. Will's executioner won't be going anywhere, I promise."

Father Anderson had come up with the suggestion that they lay Will to rest in the reaper academy gardens and have a monument placed over his grave. Whether or not Ronald would agree to that had yet to be seen. He and William weren't a married couple, but Ronald was the closest thing to family Spears had, so he had some say in where and how he was buried. Eric didn't want to press that subject right now, though. He rocked his friend and let Ronald cry against his chest, his own eyes burning with tears of grief and frustration.

And William T. Spears probably never would have guessed he would be missed by so many.

Ronald cried until his tears ran dry then he nodded and looked up, "I want to go, now...I want to be there when they bring Will back."

"Alright." Grell said as he and Alan returned, "But I want you to try and eat before Eric takes you back to Dispatch." he pointed at the forgotten sandwich.

Alan walked in to Eric, Matthew wrapped in a towel, handing him over to his father, "Hold him while I get him a clean onesie," he requested. Then he looked at Ronald. "You won't be alone for this," he promised.

After some coaxing from Grell, Ronald finally managed to choke down a few bites of the sandwich before he was allowed to go back to the dispatch building, along with everyone else who were portaling over.

Eric waited for Alan to join him before creating their portal, though he was inwardly uncomfortable with bringing the baby with until he was sure the negotiators weren't trying to pull something. They had headquarters locked up tight and secure though, and no enemies could teleport directly in. With any luck this was a sincere attempt at negotiation and they would soon have William's body in their custody again.

~xox~

* * *

-To be continued


	27. Chapter 27

The Undertaker had already met with Revivalist negotiators, by the time Ronald and the others arrived from camp. He approached Ronald and Grell quickly and he pulled his lover off to the side while Lawrence spoke to Ronald.

"I need a bit of time to tidy Will up," whispered the mortician. "They cleaned him and wrapped the damage, but I could do a lot better. The agent that did the deed is in holding downstairs in the basement level. Not that the weaselly sod's name matters, but it's Brandon Rivers."

The mortician looked at Ronald with a grim frown. "Keep the lad occupied for an hour or so. Nobody's allowed to see the prisoner without authorization, right? Lots of folk would love to pull the trigger on him and we don't need someone robbing Knox of that privilege."

"We'll keep him distracted." Grell agreed, "And with any luck, calm. Get Will fixed up, Love."

Ronald looked up at Anderson. "Have they...brought him back to us, yet?" he asked, gripping his own sleeves as he crossed his arms, still feeling the chill of shock. "I want to see him..."

Anderson glanced at the Undertaker, who was heading go the elevator to go and prepare William's body. He hated to lie to him, but he also thought it best that he not know just yet. Only a few officers knew so far and they were keeping it quiet until the time was right.

"Patience lad," encouraged Lawrence. "You'll be the first to know when I get word."

It wasn't a lie; The Undertaker would let Anderson know as soon as William's body was presentable. Lawrence patted Ron's shoulder and he guided him into the break lounge.

"Can I get you a beverage while we wait?"

Ronald shook his head, but Grell spoke up, "Give him something calming. This wait will only get harder the longer we wait." He moved over and sat next to Ronald, pulling him into his arms and kissing the top of his head, "Soon enough, Love, The time will come soon enough."

Ronald shook his head, "Too soon. It will all happen too soon and all hope that Will survived somehow...it'll be gone. I'll be alone..."

"Never." Grell tilted Ron's head back to look at him. "You will never be alone. You will always have us. Eric, Alan, Unnie and I...all the friends we have made since all this began...you have us."

"No, not the same..." Ron shook his head.

"It's...true," Grell admitted, "we can't replace the void in your heart. We aren't your lover...but that doesn't mean we don't love you. It doesn't mean we are going to let you go through this alone. We are family, Ronnie. All of us."

Lawrence began to prepare some hot chocolate for Ronald. "That is correct. I know that it's a cold comfort right now, but we shan't abandon you in your time of mourning." He located some mini marshmallows in the cupboard over the microwave and he added some to the steaming beverage. "Here. Sip on this, Ronald. It will help."

Honestly, not much of anything would likely help Knox right now aside from sleep and some closure, but they had to do what they could for him.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, Eric went down to the medical and research floor to see for himself what the Undertaker had to work with, while Grell and Lawrence comforted Ronnie. Alan was busy changing Matthew and trying to get him to go down for a nap, but Eric didn't want his spouse down there anyhow until he could see for himself what kind of shape William was in. The agents stationed as guards directed him to the correct lab room and Eric braced himself as he opened the door and went inside. Undertaker was busily working over a covered body and Eric approached quietly.

"It's not so bad," the mortician said softly, having heard him come in and somehow recognized his scent. "I've extracted the bullet, and his records were intact. I've already collected 'em for safe keeping until we can store them in the vaults. This isn't going to take as long as I thought."

Eric swallowed and walked around to the other side of the examination table. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief when he saw William's pale face. There was some bruising from the beating he'd taken, but his features weren't misshapen and the hole in his skull wasn't much bigger than the size of a coin. He'd expected much worse after witnessing it, but it had happened so fast all he could go by was the splatter. Evidently it didn't go all the way through as he'd feared, and it looked like Will's hair could cover up the entry wound once the Undertaker finished patching it up.

"What else did they do tae him while they had him?" Eric dared to ask. His hands clenched into fists as he gazed down at his old boss and friend.

Undertaker shook his head. "Doesn't appear they did more than rough him up a bit. I think Will reckoned he wasn't getting out of this alive, so he made 'em think he caved sooner than expected and then he turned it 'round on 'em once the camera started rolling."

The mortician sighed and paused in his work, bowing his head. His hair was pulled into a ponytail and stuffed down the back of his lab coat, and his mouth was covered by a surgical mask. His hands were covered with surgical gloves and he set aside the clamp he held and looked up at Eric.

"If he'd just held on, we might have got him back alive," admitted the Undertaker softly. "He'd have been tortured for certain, but they'd have kept him as a hostage, at least. Brave, foolish boy."

"It wasnae in his nature tae cooperate wi' enemies or give 'em any satisfaction," excused Eric. "An we dunno wha' else happened behind tha scenes. We dunno wha' they threatened an' tae me, it looked like it was an improvised plan. William did wha' seemed right tae him, an his thoughts were obviously on Ronnie."

The Undertaker nodded pensively, his spectacled gaze going back to the reaper lying on the table. William looked like he could have been asleep, if it weren't for his pallor and the hole in his head. "I s'pose we all have our own ways of dealing with things. I just keep thinking that if we'd gotten our broadcast out _before_ this happened, they'd have been cowed enough to surrender him back to us."

"I dun' think so." Eric shook his head. "They gave in 'cause they'd accidentally murdered him on a live broadcast, sir. Yer announcement helped, but tha execution's wha' triggered tha shock an' outrage, an' our broadcast cinched it. Maybe we could have go' him back if he'd held off longer or maybe we couldn't have, but it's done now."

Eric patted the ancient's shoulder comfortingly, swallowing another wave of his own grief. "Ya did right by us, an' by Will. I'll go back upstairs now an' leave ya too it."

Undertaker watched him go, and when he was alone again with William's body, he stared down at it contemplatively. His gaze flicked to his death scythe, propped against the wall in the corner of the room. He had Will's records. He knew how to bring the dead back to life—in a manner of speaking. Perhaps if he took the time to perfect it...

* * *

Once Undertaker had finished cleaning up and preserving William's body, Ronald was finally allowed to see him, and face his murderer. Both had been escorted into a conference room, Reapers on security duty lining the walls and windows to ensure that the man didn't try to escape.

The man was cuffed and chained to the heavy chair he sat in on one side of the room. On the other, William's body lay comfortably upon a padded table they had brought up from the Dispatch infirmary. Though they had covered it in a bolt of white silk. A coffin was one thing Undertaker hadn't been able to prepare for William, yet.

And between them, sitting on the center of the large conference table, was the very loaded gun that had put a scythe bullet in William's head.

Ronald stopped just outside the door, closing his eyes and swallowing.

"You don't have to do this now." Grell reminded him, rubbing his back. "This can wait."

But Ronald shook his head and took a deep breath, stepping into the heavily guarded room. He ignored the man he'd be facing soon, favoring only his lost lover and moving cautiously over to the table where he lay.

Ron had seen death before. He'd worked in it for years, countless bodies victim to many types of ends. But not even one had affected him the way this one did. His tears fell down his cheeks again as he saw how unmoving William was. He looked so peaceful, as if he was just napping after a hard day's work… but not a single sign of life was left in his body.

Ronald had to be sure, though. He lowered his head, pressing his ear to Will's chest, waiting far longer than he needed to hear the bum-bump of his heart.

It never came.

"Will…" Ronald choked out, caressing his face. "Why..?"

Everything faded away from him. It was as if he and Will's body were the only things left in the world.

But that wasn't true…was it? No, there was one other person, sitting across the space, watching him mourn…saying nothing. Not even an "I'm sorry". –Not that such words would help. But it would have been nice to know the man had regret.

Feeling his anger bubble up, Ronald pushed himself up and he spun around, marching across the room and snatching up the scythe gun from the table on his way over to the man who had so coldly executed his lover and pointing it right between the man's eyes.

"Do you," he hissed, emotion cracking his voice, "realize what you have done? Did you even think about whose head you pressed your bloody gun to? Will is—was—He was a good man! He was caring and loving and—but no, you probably didn't even think that he has loved ones! That he is loved! You probably just thought he was a damned robot! You looked only at what he was like as London's supervisor! His cold walls… You didn't think of the heart behind them!

"You murdered a brilliant mind! Put a tiny scythe right into it! You ended our dreams! Killed our future! You-!"

He turned away, shaking so much he couldn't see straight. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself again.

"You couldn't even let him finish—you didn't even let him finish his last words to me! You didn't even let him say he loved me! Fuck you, coward! He was a hell of a lot braver than you!"

He was screaming, tears streaming down his cheeks as he jabbed the gun back into the man's temple, his finger pulling the trigger taunt, a hair's breath away from releasing the bullet into his head.

The man braced himself, but the bang never came. Instead, he felt the butt of the gun smash into his cheekbone; shattering it.

Ronald turned away, dropping the gun.

"I can't—I can't do it!" He sobbed. William wouldn't want him to stoop to the coward's level, and he knew that.

He moved back over to William's body, pulling him into his arms, holding him close and brushing his hair back out of his face.

"Will…I—I wish I could follow you…go with you to wherever you are…I…I love you…" Tearfully, he pressed his lips to the cold, dead lips of the man he loved.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

* * *

Eric watched outside the room with the others as the heartbreaking scene unfolded, and he compressed his lips. He eyed the gun lying forgotten on the floor and he murmured to his companions. "I'll do it," he informed.

He started to go forward to collect the gun and finish the job for Ronnie, but Lawrence grabbed his shoulder and shook his head. "I shall retrieve the gun and put it away for now. In the meantime, we should move the prisoner back into the holding cell and lock him up securely. Ronald doesn't need to see you killing the man he'd just shown mercy to right now. Allow him to grieve, Mister Slingby. Give him some time and see how he feels in a few days, and if he wishes it, you may be the one to reap the prisoner in his stead."

Eric sighed. "Guess yer right. Let's get tha' filth out o' there so Ronnie can say his goodbyes tae Willl wi'out having his killer in his sight."

He went in with Lawrence to escort the prisoner out none-too-gently, and the elder paused to pat Ronald's trembling shoulder in a fatherly gesture of comfort before following them out. The Undertaker came in once they'd cleared the room and he, too laid a hand on Ronald's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, lad."

His regret went beyond the former Dispatch supervisor's death, however. He'd debated with himself earlier about the possibility of trying to bring William back as a doll, and he ultimately decided not to try it. He'd never tried it before with a reaper and his gut instinct told him that attempting to do so would be a disaster. Shinigami reels were harder to manipulate than mortal ones—he'd found that out after doing the procedure on Alan to cure the Thorns of Death.

Having nothing left to say, the Undertaker turned and walked out, meeting Grell's eyes briefly and squeezing his hand in passing. He left the crimson reaper to watch over the grieving young man while he went to be alone for a while and contemplate what he'd nearly done.

Grell stayed by the door, closing it and giving Ronald privacy, but staying close enough where he'd have someone to turn to if the blond needed it.

"You really did capture his heart, Will." he muttered, looking upwards, "If you had any doubts...I hope you know just how true Ronnie's feelings are for you."

Grell gave a sad little smile, "I'm glad you were able to find such happiness before your end. You were alone for so long, and Ronnie was able to bring a real smile to your lips. What you two have shared... it was real. I just wish it would have lasted longer for you both..."

With a sigh, Grell looked in through the window of the conference room where he could see Ronald between the blades of the shades, "If you are up there...watch over him. Be his guardian angel."

* * *

Ronald stayed with William's body hours after his tears had dried, mourning and talking to him, reluctant to leave his side. But finally, hours later as the sun began to set and the room filled with bright orange light, he gently moved William back onto the table. He gave him one last kiss and gazed down at him, "I love you more than anything, Will. I love you, and I always will."

Removing his glasses, the blond slipped William's glasses off his face to replace them with his own, "I'm sorry, I just want to give you some part of me more than my heart...and I want more than yours. I'll take very good care of your glasses, I promise."

He let out a shaky breath and backed away a few steps before going to the door and finally opening it, looking up at the blurry figures of those waiting for him. Grell being the most recognizable. But he was sure he saw Anderson talking to who he assumed was Alan. Biting his lip, he approached the man, holding up William's glasses.

"Father Anderson..." he looked down at the glasses, trying to not let fresh tears pool in his eyes, "Could you...fit his gasses with my prescription, please?"

Anderson gently took them with a nod. "Of course, Ronald. I can begin on that right away, in fact." Fortunately, he could fulfill the request because he once again had full access to the factory. "You just try and get some rest."

* * *

William's body was consigned to the earth two mornings later. An armed guard surrounded the clearing chosen for him just in case of attack—some of them brand new to what society was now calling the Liberators. Each present had undergone careful testing and bonding before being allowed to join the ranks, and they all stood solemnly as the Undertaker extolled William's deeds in life and reminded them that the dead were never truly gone. Eric stood on one side of Ronald and Grell on the other, and they both put an arm around Ronald as William's coffin was lowered into the ground. After the funeral, Lawrence presented Ronald with William's glasses. He'd corrected imperfections in the frames due to wear and tear and he'd fit in lenses to match Knox's prescription.

"I hope this brings you some small measure of comfort, Agent Knox," he said solemnly as he offered the fancy black case to him. "I will understand if you aren't ready to try them on just yet."

Ronald nodded, taking the case carefully. He had found his old student glasses still in his old desk, which he had always kept as backups, and they were what he currently wore as he'd given his to William and they were now with him in his final resting place.

"Thank you, sir." Ronald held the case a moment, looking down at it. Then, deciding he wasn't quite ready to wear them, he slipped the case into his inner breast pocket of his black suit. He glanced back at the monument marking Will's resting place. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Will the tears ever stop?"

Grell pulled him into another hug, "The pain won't fade. But you'll learn to live on, just like Will wanted," he whispered.

"Yeah... I guess," he sighed and looked up. "Let's get back the Dispatch he worked so hard fighting for."

The Undertaker watched Grell lead his bereaved junior off with a quiet little sigh, his death scythe propped in the ground. He held onto it like a walking staff, and Lawrence came up beside him. Anderson lit up his pipe and he watched with him as the younger reapers filed away.

"There was nothing any of us could have done, old friend."

Undertaker looked at him sidelong. "Sometimes I wonder."

Lawrence looked at him sharply. He knew what his fellow ancient was capable of, and the man's expressed regrets to Ronald the night that Undertaker had dressed him for the funeral took on a whole new meaning to him. "Undertaker, you made the right choice."

The mortician looked at him sidelong, and just as a light rain began to patter down from the heavens, he smirked bitterly. "Did I? So young. They're all so young, Lawrence. If I'd had the courage to try, I might have—"

"Nonsense," interrupted Lawrence with a huff. He brought out his umbrella and he unfolded it—more to keep the weather from sogging up his tobacco than anything else. "You know it wouldn't have worked out for the best. You've changed, Undertaker. You've regained the compassion I once knew you to have...and the common sense. It's for the better, I say. Let the dead rest, and let the living mourn and move on."

The Undertaker adjusted his hat so that the majority of the moisture stayed off his face, and he sighed. "Right. I s'pose I'd better get back inside and dress up in that bloody uniform again. Damn these younguns for making my ol' black heart care again."

Lawrence chuckled and he solicitously tilted his umbrella to shield the taller reaper from the increasing downpour. "Let it out in your own way, chap. I still say you're a better reaper for it. Come. Let us leave this gravesite and join those 'damnable younguns' indoors, shall we?"

The Undertaker mumbled into his collar, but he nodded and accompanied Lawrence.

* * *

That night, Ronald didn't return to camp, opting to sleep at Dispatch in his own old office. It was small, but he did have a comfortable davenport against one wall by the door. He removed his glasses and set them next to the case protecting William's glasses on the small side table before rolling on his side, facing the back cushions and feeling like he was hiding against them. It was strangely more comfortable than a wide, empty bed, and it did help him in drifting off to sleep without the aid of that flowery smelling stuff Grell had been giving him since the day they had lost Will.

As Ronald slumbered, a phantom form took shape, standing over him. He'd have recognized the phantasm immediately, had he been awake to see it. Wearing the blond's glasses, William's spirit gazed down at him with glowing eyes and he reached out to tuck a wayward lock of feathered blond hair behind Ronald's ear.

"By the way, Ronald," whispered the phantom, "I love you. I apologize for failing to say so whilst I was still alive."

Ronald stirred in his sleep and moaned Will's name.

"Shh, rest now." William drew the long jacket Ronald was using as a blanket over him, and he pressed his cool lips against the young man's cheeks. "I shall always watch over you. Sutcliff needn't worry. Live, Ronald. Live for the both of us."

The apparition straightened up and he sighed, before vanishing like smoke in the wind.

* * *

The next morning, Ronald awoke feeling unusually refreshed and relaxed. It was as if something had come during the night and washed away the overwhelming pain in his heart. He still missed the man he loved, but he felt like he could do more than simply cry.

Sitting up, he rubbed his face before looking at the two pairs of glasses on his table. With a sigh, he reached for the pair in a case, slipping William's glasses on for the first time before getting up and going to get ready for the day.

"Mornin', Ronnie," greeted Eric from his office door when he saw the younger reaper step out of his office. He sipped his cup of coffee and he looked his friend up and down, noticing a slight change in his demeanor since yesterday. "How'd ya sleep?"

"Surprisingly...well." Ron admitted. "I dreamed Will was there. He told me he loved me." he said, giving a small, reminiscent smile. "It feels like he took a huge weight off my heart."

Eric didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't uncommon for a grieving person to dream that the person they'd lost had visited them in their sleep. He certainly didn't want to put a damper on Ronald's better mood by suggesting it was all in his imagination. He smiled at Ronald and he approached him. "They've go' cinnamon buns, coffee cake an' bagels in tha break room if ye're hungry for some breakfast. What d'ya say? Feel like eating?"

He didn't mention that he noticed Ronald's clothing seemed to hang a bit looser on him. They'd all been eating sparingly of late, seeing as food supplies had to be rationed to last. There were nights out in the wilds when Eric actually skipped meals so that Alan could have a full serving—though he told his partner that he'd already eaten. Still, recent events had taken a toll on Ronald's appetite.

"You know...that sounds good." Ronald nodded, patting Eric's shoulder, "Want to tag along? Get a refill of your coffee? Where's Alan and your kid by the way, didn't they stay here last night, too?"

"Love tae," agreed Eric with a smile of relief. Ronald was almost acting like himself again, and that was such a good thing. Eric had truly feared for him—but he wasn't going to let go of his concern just yet. Suicidal people had been known to become suddenly cheerful just before they did themselves in. Eric put an arm around his friend as they went to the break room together; a subtle reminder that Ronald still had friends amongst the living that wanted and needed him there.

"Are you ignoring my question, Eric?" Ron asked with a smirk as he grabbed a plate and, feeling famished, piled it high with buns and two bagels after spreading jam on them. He shoved one in his mouth after pouring a glass of orange juice and picking it and his plate up to walk over to a table to sit.

"Eh? Oh, tha'." Eric flushed a bit with embarrassment. He'd been so focused on observing Ronald's behavior that he forgot the rest of the conversation. "Aye, Alan's still here wi' Matthew. They're still asleep in our office on tha futon. I'm thinkin' I might bring him a plate."

He'd forgotten all about that too, when he saw Ronnie in the hallway. Gods, what a terrible husband and father he was being. He quickly snatched one of the plates and started filling it with items he knew Alan would like.

"Oh good. I was starting to worry you did something stupid and got Al all mad at you." the younger blond said, his cheeks full of breakfast. He watched Eric a bit before swallowing, "You should also heat up milk for your kid. the boy has lungs on him in the morning until he gets his 'baba'."

"Already on top o' tha'," assured Eric with a smirk, retrieving the powdered formula from his blazer and shaking it for emphasis. He went to one of the cabinets to get a fresh bottle and he dropped the powder into it before going to the sink and adding water. He capped the mixture and he turned on the hot water to run it over the bottle for a few minutes.

"Al's gonna be happy yer up an' about," he said to Ronnie as he warmed the bottle for his son. "He's been worried sick about ya. Oh, and I dunno if yer interested at all, but tha Rome branch go' taken back last night an' so did tha Dublin branch. Leave it tae th' Celts an' Italians tae be tha first tae kick out interlopers." He chuckled, proud of his Scottish kin and their Irish brethren. "Looks like Tokyo's gonna be next tae be reclaimed. Enemy Dispatch is still holdin' out there, but our Japanese allies are pushin' hard."

Ronald smirked, taking another bite of a roll, "Do any of the branches even need our help? We haven't even started to dispatch help out to the other branches since taking back London. Given, we were a bit...distracted, but...we did promise to help after we secured London. Now it feels like it's about over." He swallowed and sighed, picking up his glass. "And I spent the whole time cryin'. Boy, some adult I turned out to be."

Eric paused and he looked over his shoulder at the younger reaper. "Stop tha', Ronnie. Ya lost yer lover an' there's no' a soul here that doesn't empathize wi' ya or blame ya fer mourning. Yeh had every right tae cry. As fer helping, there's still dozens o' branches tae take back. Our first target once we're sure London's secured is going tae be Copenhagen. Tha' was tha promise made tae our Danish allies when we started this campaign. After tha' we'll offer our help tae Belgium an' work our way through Europe. The American reapers are on their own fer now, 'till we run these bastarts out of our country's agencies."

He finished warming the bottle and he shook it off before wiping it. He went over to the plate he'd prepared for Alan and he picked it up. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Jus' have tae bring these tae mah family...unless ye'd like tae come wi' me? I'm sure Alan would like tae chat wi' ya, so yer welcome tae join us in our office."

"I'm still mourning." Ron admitted, "It hurts like hell that Will's gone. But until this morning I was crying every five minutes. It's kinda embarrassing. Especially since Will was so reserved and in control of his emotions. I totally lost it. A little crying ok but that was excessive."

He adjusted the glasses on his face, now suddenly understanding William's habit. The glasses were sharp looking, but they were loose and slid down his nose easily. Ron's glasses he gave to Will hugged his face and almost never needed adjustment. He picked up his plate and stood to follow Eric. "Will wouldn't want me to dwell that much on the pain of loosing him. I want to make his memory proud."

Eric smiled. If his hands weren't full, he'd have hugged the younger reaper. "Thatta boy," he encouraged.

His smile faded and he pretended interest in one of the paintings they passed by in the hallway. He still suffered guilt for failing to get to Will and Ronnie in time, but it was still fresh and he knew in his heart that he and the rest of his team couldn't have done any better if he had the chance to go back in time. He tucked the bottle under his arm when they reached his office so that he could turn the knob, and he peeked in first before opening the door all the way. Eric smiled at his husband as he approached. Alan was awake on the unfolded futon and he was cradling the baby, cooing softly over him.

"'Morning, lover," greeted Eric. He set down the plate of pastries on the coffee table by the futon and he handed over the bottle, nodding toward Ronald. "Look who's here tae visit."

"See? I told you Daddy would bring you breakfast." Alan cooed at Matthew, offering him the bottle which the hungry baby boy eagerly latched onto the nipple and began to suckle. "That's a good boy."

Smiling, Alan looked up at Ronald, "You're looking better," he observed.

"I'm feeling better. Will came to me last night," Ron said, plopping down at Eric's old desk to eat.

Alan blinked, "You dreamed about him?"

"Yeah...but it was more than that. It was like it was really him."

The brunet glanced at his husband with a confused look.

Eric shrugged, again helpless to come up with a response. "If Ronnie says he came tae him, then he came tae him. William was closest tae him in tha end, an' after tha things we've seen as reapers, I dun' think it's impossible."

He too was concerned, though. Was Ronald going insane or had he really seen William's ghost? There was no way to tell, really. All that really mattered to Eric was that dream or not, Ronald's experience had helped him. He sat down next to his spouse and he offered to take the baby and feed him.

"Here, sweetheart. I'll feed Matthew while ya eat."

Alan allowed Eric to take their son, holding the bottle in place until Eric was ready to hold it himself. He then kissed Eric's temple before walking over to his own old desk with his breakfast.

"Ronald, you should slow down before you make yourself sick," Alan observed as the blond shoved his third roll into his mouth since he walked into the office.

Ron almost seemed to roll his eyes. "Yes, _Mum_."

No doubt about it, Ronald was acting much more like himself after his dream. Alan just had to hope that it was a good thing.

"I'm jus' happy yer finally eating," mumbled Eric. He bobbed the swaddled infant cradled in his arm to prompt him to keep suckling. "Ya were startin' tae look like a waif, Ronnie. Jus' dun' choke yerself on it."

Eric grinned up at his husband and he winked. "Then one o' us might have tae give ya mouth t' mouth, an' we're both jealous sorts."

"Eric!" Alan gasped, looking up, "That is hardly appropriate to joke about right now."

Ronald also took pause, looking at his roll, another sad flicker in his gold-green eyes. While he was ready to return to his life, he was far from ready to even think about dating again. Casual or not. Even meaningless sex was out of the question. One thing was for sure, the bachelor 'ladies man' Knox was dead. He didn't even want to flirt or feel another's lips against his again. He wanted to remember what Will's had felt like. He wanted his last kiss to have been from William. Even if the 'kiss' was really just what Eric had joked about.

"Yeah, okay, I'll eat slower."

Eric realized his mistake and he muttered a curse under his breath. How foolish and careless of him to flaunt his relationship in front of Ronald, after Knox so recently lost his lover. "I'm such a jackass," he said aloud, and he looked up at Ronald, still holding the bottle to his son's lips. "Ronnie, I wasnae thinkin'. Alan's right. It wasnae right o' me an' I'm sae sorry. Things have been movin' sae fast an' I go' caught up in tryin' tae make things better fer e'eryone. I go' careless."

"It's okay." Ronald sighed, "I'm just...not ready for kissing jokes. But I do realize you were trying to keep things light-hearted."

Eric sighed and cast a regretful look toward his husband. "I'll try tae be more considerate from now on. I dun' have Alan's common sense, kid. He's go' tae keep me in check sometimes."

He walked over to Ronald and he gave him a tight, brief one-armed hug, balancing the baby in one arm so as not to drop him. "Jus' gimme a kick in the arse when I say somethin' stupid from now on."

Matthew whimpered, turning his head away from the bottle and giving a hiccup that made his whole body flinch and some milk bubble back up and onto his father's shirt.

Ronald snickered, "Or, Matty can just spit up all over you as punishment for forgetting your mouth."

Eric grinned down at his son. "Guess he doesnae approve o' mah poor sense of humor either." He took the bottle from his son and he shifted the baby in his arms to gently pat his back, adjusting the cloth he'd put over his shoulder in case of spit-up. After Matthew burped, Eric cradled him again and coaxed the nipple back into his mouth. "Come on, baby...finish yer breakfast. Tha's a good lad."

Ronald watched Eric interact with his son. The man didn't even seem to mind the mess on his shirt which he would have to change, and again he wondered what it would have been like to have a baby with William.

Matthew resumed drinking his formula, his finger curling around Eric's pinky and holding it firmly.

"We'll have to do laundry soon." Alan observed, "we only have so many shirts and he always seems to miss the mess cloth when you feed him."

Though Alan had had a few accidents as well, finding himself in need of a fresh shirt. But it seemed to happen to him less than it did Eric.

"Aye," agreed Eric. He rocked from side to side with the infant. "Baby spew everywhere...but I've go' no complaints." His eyes stayed on Matthew and he silently marveled that he and his spouse had managed to create such a perfect, tiny thing together.

Alexander Jeffries knocked on the door and stuck his head in. "Uh, 'scuse me, but council's asking for all of you." He looked at Ronald with a little grimace of regret. "You can sit this one out if ya want, Mister Knox. They'll understand if you do. It's...about the prisoner. Man, I really didn't want to be the one to come get you guys. I'm so sorry."

"It's quite alright," Alan reassured the boy, wiping his mouth off of any crumbs that may have been on his lips. "You aren't interrupting anything."

"Just Eric getting baby spit all over him," Ron agreed then sighed. "I'll go...if I can't handle it, I'll slip out." He shoved the rest of his last bagel into his mouth and washed it down with the rest of his drink before getting up.

Alex watched the blond uncomfortably and he visibly struggled for words. He could only imagine what Ronald was going through, and the two of them hadn't exactly gotten off on the best foot. Despite their similarities in age, they really didn't have that much in common. "Hey, I'm really sorry for your loss, Knox. If...if they push you too hard I can throw my pocket salt at 'em as a distraction so you can get away."

Ronald blinked dumbly at Alex before looking down with a smirk, "Still carrying around your nasty pocket salt, eh?" He adjusted Will's glasses and walked over to the hacker, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, Salty."

This time when he used the nickname he didn't hold a tone of annoyance or dislike. This time he was sincere, making it sound more like a friendly nickname.

Alex suddenly bit his lip and his vision blurred. He muttered a little curse, hating himself for being unable to hold back his emotions. "D-dammit," he said unevenly. Fabian had been injured and all he'd been able to think about was how terrible it would have been if the man had died. It just wasn't fair, and he still felt partially responsible for William's demise. He impulsively hugged Ronald—a thing which was odd for him, given his social anxiety. "I...you...well, I know we've had our th-things, but if I can do anything for you, just holler."

He backed off and forced his emotions back under control. "A'right, I'd better get going. S-sorry if I shouldn't have done that. See ya later."

Alex took off quickly, face heating with mortification at his own emotional reactions.

"Wull, tha' was...thoughtful," mused Eric awkwardly. A mental picture of Alexander tossing salt in the faces of the council came unbidden to his mind and he started to snicker in spite of himself. "Christ, I think he'd really do it, too."

"Do what?" Ron asked, standing stunned and frozen in place as he watched Alex hurry off. He and Alex had never been friends, even when they had been class mates they seemed to butt heads whenever they got assigned together for an assignment. So the hug came out of nowhere for the both of them.

Eric put aside Matthew's empty bottle and he bounced the baby in his arms. "He was jus' sympathizing wi' yeh, lad. I dun' know tha fellow like Al does, though. Jeffries seems a lil' squeamish about physical contact though, so tha' must've been genuine. Shh, Matty...it's a'right. Daddy's go' ya."

The baby started to fuss and Eric patted his back gently, kissing his chubby cheek.

"He may need to be burped again," Alan suggested, joining them in the doorway with one of Matthew's toys and a pacifier so that they could keep him quiet and entertained during the meeting.

Eric took his advice and he laid the baby against his shoulder to pat his back again. A wet burp came up and Matthew settled down. The Scotsman grinned at his spouse and he eased the infant off his shoulder again. "Ya know him so well, lover. Good call."

As he carried the child against his chest, Eric glanced at Ronald with faint concern. "Sure you're up fer this, Ronnie?"

"Of course I'm not sure." Ron scratched the back of his neck with a sigh. "This is the bastard who took William from me, after all. But I want to at least...try."

"We'll be right beside ya," promised Eric, "no matter wha' ya decide tae do...an' if yeh want someone tae act in your stead, I'm more than willing."

He'd been more than willing to finish the job on the first night, if it weren't for Anderson's interference. Eric would have liked nothing more than to end Will's executioner's life with his own gun, but he did understand that it was Ronald's privilege first—should he so choose to take advantage of it.

"Thanks, Eric..." Ron looked down at Matthew, "Can I hold him?" he asked, remembering how the baby had been a bit of a comfort to him when he first lost William. "He...may help keep me calm in there."

Alan looked up at Eric, giving a subtle nod. The Scotsman transferred the baby into Ronald's waiting arms, trusting him not to drop Matthew. "Hold him as long as ya like. He loves his uncle Ronnie."

They made it to the board meeting room and they joined everyone at the long table. Lawrence was at the head of it, with Undertaker and Grell seated to his left. The elder nodded respectfully at them as they all took their seats near the bottom end of the table.

"Well, it seems we are all here now," announced Lawrence. "Let's begin the meeting, shall we?"

He stood up to address the gathering. "As you know, this meeting concerns our prisoner—the man responsible for the execution of Agent Spears. We have two choices before us that will have a powerful effect on our campaign no matter which one we choose. We can either put him to death for his crimes, or we can show mercy and sentence him to prison. Either way will serve as an example to both our enemies and our supporters. We must carefully consider which way our actions will lead us."

The Undertaker sighed and stood up himself, his bright gaze flicking to Ronald. "I'd like t' add my tuppence. As far as I'm concerned, the man's life belongs to Agent Knox. It's his decision first and foremost, and if he's unable to come to one, then we can leave it up to the council. Agreed?"

Lawrence gazed at Ronald with sympathy before nodding. "Agreed."

The Undertaker turned to Knox. "Take a moment to think about it if you need, lad. Whatever you decide, the council will back you."

"...Yeah, no pressure, Uncle Ronnie..." Ronald said, watching Matthew as he bounced the baby in his arms, all too aware that every set of eyes in the room were locked on him.

It was difficult. He wanted the man punished. He hated the idea of the man living on when William couldn't. But still...how could he give the order to have him killed? He knew that he couldn't pull the trigger himself, but could he be the voice that orders someone else's finger to do so? Could he live with knowing he'd had the man killed? Could he live with knowing that the man who killed his love was still alive?

He would have uttered a curse had he not been holding Matthew. "I need time...to think about this," he finally said in hopes that the members of the council would stop looking at him expectantly. "However, might I speak with him alone? It may help me decide on which option I could live with more."

The Undertaker shared a glance with Anderson, and they both nodded in accord. "We'll take you to him then, lad. Might want to hand the nipper back over to his parents first, though."

Ronald nodded and let Eric take his son back, "Hey, give your dad a hard time for me, okay?" He smiled at the baby, handing him his stuffed toy he'd dropped when he was handed over to his father.

He nodded, "Okay, I hope I'm ready for this."

"Come along, then," said Anderson. He put a supportive arm around Ronald as he guided him out of the room and down to the holding area.

* * *

The prisoner looked up when Ronald entered his cell. He remained stonily silent, his gaze flicking between Knox and the elder he was with. Lawrence checked his manacles to be sure he couldn't make a move against Ronald while he waited outside, and then he nodded at the boy encouragingly. "I'll be just outside the door, lad. Take as much time as you need."

Ronald nodded and waited for the cell door to close before he moved over to the bench which was bolted to the floor opposite the bed which the prisoner was occupying. Silence stretched on between them as Ronald looked him over and gathered his thoughts so that hopefully his emotions wouldn't get out of hand again.

Finally, he took in a breath between parted lips and attempted to take on William's professionalism for the situation.

"My name is Ronald Knox. I am one of the original Dispatch agents who fled London when the Revivalists started taking over, and as such, one of the original members of those fighting to bring back what Dispatch had been before."

He adjusted Will's glasses on his face before continuing, "I am also the lover of the man you shot on the broadcast your people put out. As such, the leaders of our group have officially left your fate in my hands. They gave me my options and I must decide on what path we take with you, now that the shock of losing the man I love isn't so fresh.

"I do not want to rush my decision. I do not wish to regret it later on, and I do wish to do this the way he would have if he were in my place right now. At least, I'm going to try. So talk to me. Help me understand your actions. Start with your name, rank, and what region and department you are from."

He didn't recognize the man at all. Even when he pressed a gun to his head he was seeing red and not the man's face. He didn't see if the man had been scared or regretted what he had done. And he was sure the man wasn't from any divisions in London. Having been such an office flirt, he had known faces from all the departments of the London Dispatch building.

The man looked up at him and he said nothing. He had been betrayed by his people, handed over as a sacrificial offering for attempting to stop their prisoner from inciting the whole realm against them with his words. He'd been against putting him on a live broadcast from the beginning, because he recognized a stoicism in him that warned of trouble. He didn't believe him broken and he'd been right. Now he would die, but he still believed in the cause and he had no regrets.

He offered none of this information to the grieving young blond. He just stared back at him coldly.

Ronald sighed when he was met with silence, "Right now in my mind you are nothing but a heartless piece of scum some low-level demon scraped from its nasty foot. I'm giving you a chance at changing my mind."

Finally, the prisoner spoke. His accent was Hungarian. "He made the choice to speak as he did. I did it for the cause, just as he acted for his own."

"From what I have come to understand, you acted against orders." Ronald countered, "You can not blame your actions on the cause of the revivalists. There was no reason for W-for William to die." his voice faltered, but he kept his act up.

"Soldiers always die in wars," answered the Hungarian flatly.

* * *

Outside in the hallway, Anderson was listening to the conversation through the barred window in the steel door and he sighed and shook his head. He wasn't trying to be nosey. He was only there to ensure nothing got out of hand and he knew that Ronald was trying to reason with an extremist. The poor lad was holding himself together well, but his grief was fresh and their was a reason they called Lawrence "Father Anderson", after all.

Someone came up behind him and Lawrence instinctively reached for the scythe gun he'd become proficient with over the long months. He relaxed when he turned to see that it was Eric Slingby. He gave the Scotsman a nod of greeting before turning back around to look through the window.

"How's he holdin' up?" whispered Eric. He'd left the baby with Alan so that he could come down and check on things.

Lawrence shook his head and his mustache twitched as he grimaced. "Admirably, but I fear that may not last for much longer. Are you prepared to act, Officer Slingby, should he make the decision?"

Eric nodded. "I meant it when I said I'd take care o' it in his stead. I've already go' plenty o' reaper blood on mah hands an' if Ronnie doesnae want tae stain his, then I'm here fer him." As far as he knew, Ronald hadn't shot to kill during the battle. He incapacitated plenty of enemies, but he hadn't actually caused any deaths.

Lawrence glanced at him and he pulled out his pipe to suck on it out of habit. He hadn't had any tobacco to pack it with, but he still found the action soothing. "And if he chooses to let the man live?"

Eric's mouth tightened. "If tha's where his conscience takes him than it's his decision. Ya know how _I_ feel 'bout it, but this isn't about mah feelings or anyone else's."

Lawrence nodded in approval and looked back into the window, listening for Ronnie's reply to the enemy agent's cold statement.

* * *

"They don't have to." Ronald said, almost gently. "No one has to die in war. War isn't about killing. It's about contradicting points of view coming to a head. It's such a human thing to think that the two sides must fight and kill as many of the opposition as they can before the leaders finally compromise and draw up treaties or whatever political terms is needed. Your side started to kill and ours defended ourselves. Sure, your side may have suffered casualties, and neutral parties who had no idea what was happening have gotten caught in the middle, but it needn't be that way. No one else needs to die. We are Death Gods! We greet the souls of the dead and guide them to their afterlives. We aren't killers."

Ronald took a deep breath. "But what you did...how Will lost his life...that wasn't just a 'casualty of war'. He wasn't shot down during our retake of London Dispatch. He was taken captive. He was stripped of his glasses and beaten while he was completely defenseless!" Ronald's tone started to raise, losing the cool, calm, professional tone he tried to borrow from William himself. "You should have used him to negotiate with us, instead-what you did...it was downright cold-blooded _murder_!"

His fists had clenched tightly during his speech, his short nails cutting into his palms and drawing blood. "Will died for our cause, but not as a casualty-yours was a decidedly evil act that even your own people found deplorable. Otherwise they wouldn't have handed you over to us! The fact that you are here now is proof that the Revivalists can be reasoned with, that this can be settled diplomatically."

Ronald realized he was getting worked up and he swallowed, trying to regain the calmness he'd lost. "I came here to see if there was anything good remaining in you. Anything that made you...human, for lack of a better term. To see if you have regret, compassion...any hint of a saving grace so that it could be easier not to have you executed for your crime! A family-lover-children! Any reason to make this heavy-ass decision easier to make! Live...die... Both have their consequences, and both will weigh heavy on my shoulders as neither one is the 'right' thing to do. Both are pretty sucky, but it's up to me to choose.

"But you don't seem to care. You sit there as if you know which fate you have, and you aren't even trying to save yourself. Will took a risk by saying what he had on that broadcast. He was brave enough to face it for our cause, but you? You're a coward who faces death not for the good of your cause but for nothing. There is no point to your death at all and yet you offer no point to your life. You have such a low value on not only life itself but your own life that you have no right to call yourself a Shinigami. You live for nothing-you'll die for nothing-and I can't even feel sorry for you."

"I have no family," answered the prisoner. "I have no name. I live for the cause and I will die for the cause."

Lawrence decided this had gone on long enough. He told Eric to wait outside and he walked through the door to speak with Ronald. "Mister Knox, this man was born and bred to serve the Revivalist cause. I thought perhaps seeing your grief and compassion might ignite some spark of sentience in him, but as you can see, it appears to be a lost cause."

He glanced at the prisoner—who only had been earlier identified as "Agent 13", and he shook his head in a pitying manner. Anderson laid a hand on Ronald's shoulder. "I encountered two enemy agents just like him when I was in hiding, before reuniting with you all. I should have known this would do nothing but cause you more grief. It was a long shot."

"...Okay, now I pity him..." Ronald glanced at the man. What kind of life was it if he was raised for the purpose of being an expendable number in a fight? No family, no friends... Repressing emotions for work was one thing. Not experiencing love at home was another.

"...He really doesn't care if he dies...does he? He's already dead inside... It'd be crueler to let him live at this point."

Lawrence agreed with him to a point, but he thought of Ronald's words earlier about the Revivalists being capable of diplomacy. "Come out into the hall with me, Ronald. There are a couple of things I should like to discuss with you."

Ronald nodded, following him silently, though his mind was distracted with thoughts on what he should do. His mind had changed a few times just in the short time he was in the cell with his lover's killer.

Once they were outside, Lawrence spoke in a low voice to both Ronald and Eric. "This could simply be hearsay, but as I understand it the original council of the Revivalists has dissolved. This is really meant to be classified information to all but our high council, but I think it's important to make an exception here. People like that agent in there...well you've both seen it. I was told by the negotiator that delivered William and that man in there that they shut down the project leading to results like him." He nodded at the cell door.

Eric glanced at Ronald and he crossed his arms over his chest. "So?"

"So I believe we do have a chance of ending this with minimal further bloodshed," answered Lawrence. "Ronald, if you are torn on this...if you don't feel you can go through with executing this man, we could demonstrate mercy."

"He jus' said he thinks tha man's better off dead," protested Eric, his expression darkening.

Anderson sighed. "Out of pity, yes."

"So which is it," demanded Eric, "Put him down like a rabid dog outta mercy or spare his life outta mercy? Either way it's mercy, aye? Tha man put a bullet in Will's skull after torturing him! He did it wi'out hesitation 'r thought! He's too dangerous tae keep alive, sir!"

Anderson compressed his lips. "Calm your bloodthirst, Slingby, and think! This is not even about mercy for that man in there. It is about showing the world _and_ our opposition that we can be merciful."

"Then I'll put a bullet in his skull like he did Will," insisted Eric. "It'll be quick, an' I won't beat him to a pulp first like he did tae—"

"Eric," Ronald cut the Scot off, reaching forward and grabbing his wrist. "I think you are missing Pop's point. If we kill him...then we won't be showing the reaper world that we are any better than the revivalists. We'd have an easier time ending this war over control of Dispatch worldwide if we don't execute our prisoners-including...him."

He hated to admit it because half his heart still wanted the unnamed killer to die, but Anderson had a point...one he felt he had known himself, without realizing it.

Eric sighed and dropped his arms, before reaching up to comb his fingers through his mussed wavy hair. He looked back through the small, barred window at the man he was so eager to kill, and he made a decision. "I dun' like it. They've been assassinating us, jailing us an' chasin' us down fer a year now. Aye, Undertaker can be a scary bastart an' I'm sure he made some of 'em piss their pants wi' tha' broadcast we sent out, but seems tae me they gave in too fast. Fer all we know tha prisoner could be a plant."

"Slingby, Mr. Jeffries fully scanned him from head to toe for bugs," reminded Lawrence, "as well as Mr. Spears' body. The prisoner is securely locked up and restrained at all times. What could he possibly do?" as Ronald flinched at the idea that they might have bugged his lover's body.

"Wha' if it's something inside o' him," insisted Eric, "instead of on tha clothes he came in?"

Lawrence' mustache twitched with faint irritation and he started to say something, then changed his mind and revised it. "I suppose that could be considered a valid concern. Alexander's scanning technique may not be able to detect a device implanted somewhere inside of him, but what are you suggesting that might be? They already know we are here, so tracking would be useless."

"I dunno," admitted the Scotsman in frustration, "but even if they've go' their hands full wi' other uprisings righ' now, I cannae believe they wouldn't even try tae attack us. We're th' ones tha' started tha' ball rolling an' I dun' believe they won't be lookin' tae give us some payback."

"Then what in blazes do you suggest we do," whispered Anderson harshly, "cut him open and dig around to be certain?"

"Undertaker probably would," muttered Eric almost sullenly.

"And you will not suggest it," said Lawrence sternly. "That will be enough of this for now, lad. Ronald had his say and we did promise to honor that. Now let's get out of this holding area and have a beverage. The air has a sour feel to it down here."

"I haven't made up my mind yet." Ronald spoke up as the three of them began to make their way back up out of the cell block. "I just understand the consequences of both options open to me, now. I have a lot to think about."

Eric walked in silence, feeling more ill at ease with each step. He kept thinking about his small family and the more he pondered it, the less he wanted Alan and Matthew to be there. He'd seen the things the Revivalists were capable of—done some of them himself out of necessity. Yes, they had London Dispatch secured and other divisions were fighting back and taking their branches back too, but the enemy wasn't defeated yet.

* * *

"Alan, I want yeh tae take Matthew an' return tae camp tonight," Eric said to his spouse a short while later, meeting up with him in their office while Ronald considered his options concerning the prisoner.

"What? Why?" Alan had just put Matthew down for his nap, so he kept his voice low as to not wake the baby up.

Eric sighed and he walked over to the bassinet, gazing down at their sleeping son. He waited for Alan to join him and he put an arm around him, pitching his voice to a whisper. "Keeping tha prisoner here has me uneasy. I dun' know much about these 'numbered agents' like Anderson, but I keep thinking o' relentless th' enemy's been, chasin' us down all o'er Europe. Cannae help but think they aren't finished yet. It's hard fer me tae believe they'd let us take back our division wi'out trying tae wrest it back from us again."

"I doubt they are done and giving up, either, Eric. But we can't keep living out there hidden in the woods. The camp has been dispersing. Citizens are taking refuge in the recaptured dispatch branches. It's safer for us here and should something happen, I can portal Matthew and myself out to a new location. We have options now, and I'd rather stay with you."

Alan slipped his arms around Eric and pulled him into a kiss, "Trust me, we are as safe as we'll ever be right now."

Eric swallowed, hoping he was right. He kissed him back and he lifted him off his feet a little in a bear hug, before setting him back down again. He wanted to argue with him but he always had trouble doing that with Alan...and he really didn't want to be separated from him again, no matter how protective he felt of him and their son.

"Swear tae me ya won't hesitate tae portal tha minute there's any sign o' trouble, Alan," he whispered. I'll cave this time if ya give me yer word."

Alan gave a warm smile, "While I do wish to help in the fight, Matthew's safety is my first concern. I would never leave him in harm's way."

Eric relaxed a little and he gave him another hug—a gentler one, this time. "Feel like lying down wi' me fer a while an' having a nap? I dun' think Ronnie's going tae come up wi' a decision anytime soon an' Father Anderson's wi' him. Right now I dun' think I'm much comfort. I think I'm pressuring him tae do wha' I'd do."

Alan clicked his tongue, "Leave it to him. If he wants your advice, he'll ask you. I know he would—you _are_ his best friend, after all." He lightly scolded him, even as he took his hand and lead him to the futon they were using as a bed. Being a new parent was exhausting, and he wasn't going to turn down a chance at getting rest. Especially if his husband had time to join him.

* * *

-To be continued


	28. Chapter 28

That night, after Ronald bedded down in his small office, a voice whispered his name. "Ronald."

The blond didn't even stir. There was a barely audible sigh, and then the paperweight on the desk by the window suddenly jumped off of it and crashed into the glass, cracking it.

"Mmmm..." Ron moaned, rolling over onto his belly. "Will...I think...mouse...got in our tent..." He muttered, unsurprisingly lost in his dreams already. He really did love his sleep and it took a few more breakable items crashing to the floor to make him get up.

"Fine...I'll chase it out..." he sighed, sitting up and reaching for the glasses on the side table and clicking on the lamp.

Before him stood a ghostly phantasm in the form of William T. Spears, and he was wearing Ronald's glasses. There was no color to him and he was just slightly transparent, but otherwise he might have stepped out of a black and white photo. He gazed down at Ronald solemnly, unmoving. He appeared to be lit up by some light source that didn't exist on that plane.

Ronald's mouth dropped open and he rubbed his eyes, sure that he was seeing things. When his vision didn't clear, he tried pinching himself to see if he was asleep, and he felt the pain from it.

"W-Will?" Ronald slowly stood up, the blanket falling to his bare feet as he stepped closer, a hand reaching out towards the image of his lover.

The phantom hesitated a moment, and then he turned around and began to walk toward the door leading out of Ronald's office. He turned back and looked at him expectantly, tilting his head toward the door in a gesture indicating that he wanted him to follow.

Ronald grabbed his boxers and hopped in place as he pulled them on, so that he wouldn't be streaking down the Halls of London Dispatch. He then stumbled towards the door and William with a look of awe and hope on his face.

Chasing phantoms. He couldn't even know if Will was real or a hallucination...or if he was still on the Davenport, dreaming that this was happening. Worse than that, he didn't even know which one to hope for. If it was real, that meant that William's soul was trapped with unfinished business, unable to fully pass on to his destined afterlife...or maybe, he was refusing to.

William nodded at him, and a hint of a smirk curved the corner of his lips as though he'd guessed or sensed Ronald's thoughts. He continued through the door without opening it, walking right through it to leave Ronald to follow at his own pace.

Ronald pulled the door open and looked out down both ways. Spotting the ghostly image of his lover, he followed. "Will...where are you going?" he whispered, "I miss you..."

William paused and looked back at him, his handsome, ghostly features expressing some regret. He looked as though he wanted to say something for a moment, but he turned and kept going. Evidently, he had something more important than sentiment on his mind at the moment. He led Ronald to the lift and once he stepped inside of it, he vanished. The floor number for the Research department was already lit up when Ronald stepped inside.

~ _If this is a dream, man, I think it's a drunk one...why would Will lead me there of all places?_ ~ Ronald thought to himself as he pressed the button to close the doors and allow the lift to take him to his destination.

With a ding, the doors opened and Ronald stepped out into the dark hallway. No one seemed to be there, which struck Ronald as odd. They were supposed to have people taking shifts in all the major areas of the building throughout the night.

...But then again, maybe the reaper on duty for this floor had left to go change places with his or her replacement.

Ronald turned down the Hall, catching another glimmer of William's form standing outside the doorway to the control room. The ghost disappeared through it and Ronald ran to the door, throwing it open.

"Will, what are you...oh-Shit!" Trailing off and gasping, Ron's eyes widened. He wasn't exactly a computer expert, but he was sure something wasn't right as the screens all scrolled numbers and letters so fast he couldn't read anything. He'd never seen anything like it, and knowing that the computers on this floor held very important things, he knew he had to do something.

Ronald turned from the screens and ran as fast as he could through the halls to the office Alex and his foreign boyfriend had claimed for personal use.

Practically colliding with the door, he banged on it, loudly and franticly, "Salty! Salty get out here now! I sure hope you aren't naked because I don't think you have time to make yourself decent right now! We have shit to deal with and we need you!"

Alex came awake with a start and a grunt, roused by Ronald's frantic knocking and yelling. He reluctantly pulled himself out of Fabian's embrace and he got up to answer the door. "Shh...cool it, would you?" he saw the almost frantic look in Ronald's eyes and he rubbed his own, wondering what could provoke the other young reaper to such concern. "What's going on, mate?"

"There is something wonky goin' on with the computers." Ronald said, pointing. "Like, really not natural. I think they could...blow up or something. Whatever it is, it can't be good and you are the only guy who I can think of to fix it!" He didn't wait for Alex to respond, he grabbed his hand and started pulling him back down the halls to show him.

Alex hastily tugged his boxers up, realizing that somehow Fabian must have pulled them partway down while they were sleeping. He snatched up his glasses from the desk on his way out and he blinked the sleep from his eyes. "What th' hell..."

He stumbled along behind Ronald and he tried not to trip himself as they hurried to the control room together. He adjusted his glasses once they got in there, and his eyes widened. "Oh my fuck...this is not good at all. Move aside, lemonhead. I've got to jump on this quick!"

He didn't even question what had brought Ronald into the control room at this late hour. He had to move fast if he was to counter the attempt to hack into their system. "Think you're big and bad, huh?" he muttered to the unknown interloper, cracking his knuckles. "We'll see about that. Good catch, Knox. I can take it from here."

Alexander didn't notice or sense the phantom of William T. Spears materializing just behind his companion. The deceased Dispatch supervisor watched his lover quietly, a faint little smirk of triumph appearing on his ghostly lips. He was proud of Ronald, and he wanted to show him as much.

" 'Lemonhead'...good one, Salty." Ron said, patting the other boy's shoulder. He could appreciate a good jab when he heard one, and he knew he hadn't exactly treated Alex fairly since the beginning of the Dispatch takeover. He'd let jealousy over nothing control his outlook on the hacker. He gave a small yawn and watched Alex's fingers fly over the keyboard.

"Need me to stick around for anything?" he asked, catching the glimmer of William behind him. He straightened up and turned to look at William, memorizing his colorless features. He even forgot he had asked Alex a question as he reached up to try and touch William's cheek.

Ghosts had no bodies. He knew that. But every ghost story he had heard involved humans. He was a Death God, after all, maybe he could feel more than the rumored chill...

But his hand passed right into Will's cheek, filling his heart with disappointment. It was like passing his hand through a cold mist, and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he pulled his hand back, hoping that having a hand pass through his cheek wasn't uncomfortable for the ghost. "Sorry..." he muttered.

William's shade smiled at him—actually _smiled_ —and then he mouthed his thoughts and he touched Ronald's cheek with his partially transparent fingertips. "I love you."

The action made Ron shiver, but still he moved as if to lean into the cold touch, his own hand moving up in attempt to hold his hand in place. Sucking in a breath he fought the urge to throw his arms around the man he knew he'd simply fall right through. He didn't even care if Alex turned around and saw him. He didn't care if Alex couldn't see William when he could, he only wanted to linger there in William's faint touch as long as he could.

"Will..."

William backed up, walking through the door and leading Ronald out into the hallway with him. He bent over to speak into Ronald's ear, his voice little more than a breeze on the wind. "Well done," he mouthed. He reached out to touch Ronald's cheek with a cool hand, and he smiled nostalgically at him. "Good work, Ronald Knox."

"Charon's Oar; I miss you..." Ronald blinked back tears as he swallowed, "Don't go... If this isn't a dream, don't go... I..." Trailing off, he attempted to kiss the ghost, his lips only feeling a cold chill.

He probably looked like a madman, but he didn't give a toss.

William stared at him for several moments, his handsome, ghostly features expressing regret and longing. He leaned over and he spoke into Ronald's ear, his voice little more than a chill breath of winter against Ronald's cheek.

"I adore you. Be safe, and stay strong."

He touched Ronald's cheek, his pale fingertips brushing over the young reaper's skin lightly. He spared a moment to gaze into his eyes and he turned away. He walked off slowly, fading like a memory as he parted ways with him.

"Th-that's the exact opposite of staying, William!" Ronald reached out for him, but it was too late as William was invisible once more.

He let out a painful sigh and leaned back against the wall, sliding down it until he was seated upon the floor.

Alexander was too preoccupied with countering the hacking attempt to notice Ronald's odd behavior. He called out to him without taking his eyes off the data screens. "Hey, could you get me a soda? I've got cotton mouth and I don't dare get up to go get one myself."

At that moment though, the Undertaker came walking down the hallway and he slowed and stopped at the sight of Ronald sitting there on the floor. He tilted his head and he reached into his shirt pocket for his glasses, propping them on face to better make out the young man's expression.

"Ronnie? What are you doing down here at this hour?" asked the mortician. "You aren't sleepwalking, are you?"

"Possibly going mad." Ron muttered, rubbing his face and looking up, "but also assisting is saving the day." He jabbed his finger at the door to the control room. "Something was happening in there but I got Salty and he's dealing with it."

He pushed himself up. "I should get him his drink and then get back to bed."

The Undertaker frowned with concern. "I know a li'l something about madness, my lad. Why don't I come along with you and you can tell me what the trouble is, eh? Could be you're just suffering exhaustion and you need more rest."

He put an arm around Ronald's shoulders and walked with him, clearly unwilling to take 'no' for an answer. "Let's start with the control room, yeah? What happened?"

"It's all the same thing, sir." Ron sighed, "It's...William. I saw him tonight...he led me to the control room and the computers were acting up. I got Salty in there but then Will left again..."

Undertaker regarded him quietly for a moment, and then he nodded. "I can believe he came to you. Warned you something was amiss, did he?"

Of all reapers, the Undertaker knew what it was like to get messages from beyond the grave and even if there was a chance it was Ronald's imagination, it had led him to a discovery that was quite important. "Tell me something, chap. When you saw William, did he appear solid or transparent? Was he dressed like he was when we buried him?"

Ron nodded, "He even wore my glasses...but I couldn't touch him when I tried. It was like he was made of mist and his voice was barely a whisper. I'm not exactly sure if I actually heard it or if I imagined to was speaking to me."

He stopped at a vending machine and started hitting buttons, finding that they were all sold out save for grape flavored. "Hope he likes purple..." Ron said, taking the can that was deposited.

"It takes quite an effort for spirits to manifest on this plane," mused the Undertaker. "I imagine William put everything he had into doing it and communicating with you. Most of the time it takes a medium for them to speak with the living, and that's draining enough as it is."

Undertaker patted Ronald on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, I don't think you're going crazy. If you were, there'd be no question of your own sanity in your mind." He chuckled. "People have been calling _me_ mad for years, and I still don't quite believe them. Ah well...if nobody else believes you, I do."

"I...do know ghosts are real, but actually seeing one...seeing Will like that...it doesn't feel real but he also does... I don't know what is real or in my head. I dream of him often, but this dream lead me down here."

Arriving back at the control room, he paused to duck inside, setting the can down. "They only had one flavor left," he told the busy hacker before rejoining Undertaker in the hall.

"Thanks," called Alex over his shoulder. He didn't even look to see what flavor it was. He opened it up and took a swig before setting it aside and getting back to business.

While he was absorbed in stopping the hacking attempt and possibly even countering it, the Undertaker spoke softly to Ronald. "Whether you were awake or walking in your sleep, I think your William did guide you down here." He bowed his head in thought as he walked the halls with the younger reaper, accompanying him back to the office floor they were staying on. He'd been restless himself of late, and not just because of the loss of Will and a few of their other comrades.

"I've dreamed of my daughter a lot, too. In fact, just last night I thought I heard her crying. At first, I thought mayhap I was hearing Alan and Eric's li'l one, but it sounded like it was right there in the room with us. Funny, that. I never even got to hear her voice, but I knew..."

The mortician shook his head and sighed. "Well, if you're imagining things, so am I. Difference is folk already think I'm mad." He smirked at Ronald, though the expression lacked his usual humor. They took the lift to their floor and the Undertaker saw Ronald to his office.

"If you have trouble getting back t' sleep, just remember the medicine you've got. Even if you don't like taking it, it should quiet your thoughts enough to help you rest."

"I may have to...It'll be a lonely night again, I can feel it." Ronald paused, and he looked back at Undertaker. "I hope your daughter can find peace...and I'm sorry for all the times I called you old and crazy. I think I understand a little better, now."

The ancient shrugged and forced a smile. "We've all changed in some way since all this started. G'night, lad." He opened the door to the office he was sharing with Grell and he entered the room quietly—until he tripped over the office chair on his way to join Grell on the folding couch.

"Ah! Buggar!"

The Undertaker practically pitched face-forward right into his sleeping lover's crotch.

"Fiend!" Grell gasped, startling awake and bolting upright in bed, bringing one fist down onto Undertaker's silver head and his other summoning his scythe. He blinked then. "Unnie? What are you doing to me when I'm getting my beauty sleep?" he gasped, recognizing his lover. "I could have reaped you!"

The mortician lifted his head from Grell's crotch and he yanked his glasses off. "It's these blasted spectacles," he complained. "I'm not used to seeing things this way and sometimes it makes me a wee bit dizzy. Sorry, lovely."

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and he put his glasses in the case sitting on the coffee table nearby. With a sigh, he bent over to take his boots off and get undressed. "And sorry for leaving you waiting. I wanted to join you in bed earlier, but I got into a conversation with one of our colleagues about plans to move on to the next location. Then on my way back up from that floor I ran into Mister Knox. Seems the poor chap thought he saw Spears' ghost and he followed it down t' the control room. Something was going on and he fetched Jeffries to deal with it."

"He saw-?" Grell shook his head, "Just come to bed. You can tell me in the morning what you have been up to." he drew him into a kiss after banishing his scythe.

The Undertaker removed his long overcoat and he tossed it over the office chair before unbuttoning his shirt and removing it. He slipped out of his pants next and once he'd finished disrobing, he joined his lover in the bed and he drew him close, spooning up against him. "Grell...I have to ask; did you happen t' hear a baby crying last night around the Witching Hour?"

"A baby? Matthew probably." Grell asked sleepily, "I didn't hear him last night. Maybe he had a tummy ache. I'm sure his mummy took care of it."

He snuggled in closer to Undertaker, pulling the blanket up over their shoulders. "You needn't worry about him, my love."

Undertaker sighed. He was beginning to finally feel his age, but he wouldn't complain about that to Grell. Instead, he cuddled up close to him and he breathed in his scent, trying to put aside his issues and wind down.

* * *

The next day, the council held a meeting. This time every member of the core colony remaining in London were invited to attend, as it involved them and their choice to participate or not. Lawrence began the meeting, explaining the situation to them.

"Late last evening, Alexander Jeffries blocked a malicious attack on our database from the Revivalists," he said to the assembly, walking slowly around the boardroom table. There weren't enough seats for everyone, so nearly half of them were standing. "He turned their own code back on them and he tracked it to its origin. Alex, if you please?"

He gestured politely at the young man who was sitting beside Fabian at the table with his laptop open. Alex looked up with his mouth hanging open, his hair pulled back into a ponytail and a cap crowning it.

"Yeah?"

Lawrence cleared his throat. "Please explain to the assembly your findings."

"Oh." Alex looked faintly embarrassed. "Right...that."

He got up and he licked his lips nervously as all eyes turned to him. "Well uh...like Father Anderson said, I traced the code and I found out where it was coming from. It's from uh...hold on, a second..."

He retrieved his notepad from his jeans pocket and he flipped through them to read his scrawl. "Manchester, yeah. It came from the Manchester division and I hijacked control of their system for a time. Got a look at their numbers and...hold on, let me finish setting this up. Sorry. Won't take long."

Alex hurried back over to his laptop and he pointed the connected projector at the screen against the east wall. "Guys, would ya mind stepping away from the screen so everyone can see? Um, sorry, you four in front of me need to maybe scoot over or get out of the chairs for a minute so you don't block the projection."

Eric got up, along with three other reapers. Alan was out of the line of projection, so he didn't need to move. Alex tapped something in to the keyboard and he turned on the projector. "Here it is," he said with some relief. The screen lit up as he played the feed he'd gotten from the culprit division's security cameras earlier, before they realized that they no longer had control of those feeds and disabled all cameras.

"Look, it's their security relays," explained Alexander. "As you can see, there really aren't many of 'em left over there—inside or out."

"I don't see how this proves that." Grell muttered, "This just shows the people who are in that location. They could have people hiding away and ready to portal in if something happens."

Alan was quick to agree. "Grell's right. After all, we have some of our own who have left our immediate group but are on call should anything happen. We can't have an accurate account based on these feeds. We should take these numbers and assume they have double, at least, should we make our move on that location."

"True," agreed the Undertaker, "but we still have an opportunity to take them by surprise. Like the fellow in the cap here said: he's crippled them."

Lawrence nodded, his eyes on the feed being projected. "Yes, he has. Even if they _do_ have reinforcements they could call upon, they aren't able to reach them without physically sending a missive. If we strike quickly, we could take that branch before they have the chance."

Fabian sighed, and he propped his booted feet on the chair that Alex had been sitting in. "So we are taking back another English branch, then."

Anderson looked at him, and his expression softened. "I understand how you feel, Mr. Fabian. Rest assured, Copenhagen is most certainly at the top of our list of large branches to liberate. We must first do what we can with the resources we have, however. Try to be patient."

Fabian looked at Alex, who in turn looked back at him with a sympathetic expression on his young face. The Dane gave a nod and he said no more. He had at least _one_ good reason to remain with this team...one good reason to practice patience.

Alex looked away, his face flushing in response to the steady stare behind the silver-framed glasses. He cleared his throat and he pointed at the screen. "So anyways, we probably should all have a good look at this feed to get an idea of the layout of the place. I mean, those of us that are going if the council gives the thumbs-up on a raid."

"Do we have anyone here from that branch?" Ronald spoke up from the back corner of the room, "Insider knowledge would be helpful in making the raid as quick and _safe_ as possible. I'm pretty sure I speak for everyone when I say that we have already seen far too much death during this civil war over control of Dispatch. It'd be great if we can do this with minimal additional deaths as possible."

He frowned, noticing how people looked at him. "What? I don't need your pity. It's the truth. None of us wants to die or lose any more of our loved ones. We were in hiding for how long to make sure we were ready for our first big move to take back London? Safety has always been important to our group."

"Yes, of course," agreed Lawrence with a respectful nod at Ronald. "In that matter, it just so happens that I've been to that branch on more than one occasion. The quality of their glasses were in question and I've visited their branch on several occasions to assist in the training of the manufacture of them. I am somewhat familiar with the layout."

"Then you should coach us on what you can remember, along with our studies of these feeds Alex was able to get us." Alan agreed. "If we are going to do this, we need to work fast, so we should start preparing now as we wait for the official word from the board. But I do think it's safe to say the board will agree this is opportune. We may not get another chance like this before this is all over."

"They probably know they are vulnerable. So they may be expecting us to move in on them." Grell thought out loud, "or they should, if they are smart. Maybe we should dig up a few hundred more Dollies."

"Already have them ready to go," assured the Undertaker. "I had their caskets moved to the basement level yesterday, and we've still got 'round sixty of 'em left over from when we took this branch. I might need t' start thinking of going into production again soon though. I only had fifty caskets available. Dollies aren't indestructible, after all."

"Worry about that after we've liberated the Manchester branch," advised Lawrence. "For now, I think we should focus on orientation so that our agents can do this as quickly and safely as possible."

* * *

After calling in reinforcements and getting briefed on the mission, the Dispatch agents prepared to teleport to the target. Once again, Undertaker sent his dolls in first. Fabian raised a platinum brow when Alex hurried up to his side.

"What do you think you're doing?" demanded the Danish reaper.

"Coming with," answered Jeffries casually. When his love interest frowned at him, he straightened up challengingly. "What...think I can't cut it? Hey, I was trained to be a field agent too, you know. Just 'cause I spend most of my time at the computer doesn't mean I can't fight. It's not _my_ fault my department assigned me to computer tech because o' my skill set, and the last time I stayed behind, you took a bullet. _Someone's_ got to watch out for your crazy Viking ass."

Fabian crossed his arms over his chest and his mouth twitched. "Is that right?"

Alex gave a sharp nod. "Yeah, that's right."

The taller man chuckled softly and relaxed his arms. He reached out to squeeze Alexander's shoulders. "Than it's my honor to have a hacker at my back."

Alex relaxed and smiled. He looked over at Ronald, who was waiting in line with the Undertaker's team. "You ready for this, Lemon?"

Ronald chewed the inside of his cheek a moment before answering, "I sure hope so." He glanced at the reaper he'd been paired with for this raid. She was cute, but she wasn't William. He hoped that fighting again wouldn't bother him. He'd almost sat this one out, but he hadn't felt right about it.

Alex's expression betrayed sympathy, and he bit his lower lip and stepped over to pat Ronald gingerly on the shoulder. "We'll stay close," he promised. "We're not losing you too, mate."

He turned to look at Fabian. "Are we?"

The Dane took his prompt and he shook his head. "No more losses." He regarded the two younger reapers and he smirked, inwardly appreciating the sight of them standing side by side. "Lemons and salt go good with margaritas."

Alex and Ronald both had a perplexed look on their faces, and Fabian added: "...so I hear." His face flushed and he wished he'd kept that sad attempt at an anecdote to himself.

"Uh, I think you've got it confused with limes," offered Alexander, "but that's better than the last joke you tried to tell."

He smirked at Ronald and rolled his eyes. "Danes, man."

Ronald shrugged, "You'd know better than me. I've spent most of my time with fellow Londoners." He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, "I promised Eric I'd get back here if I can't...handle myself fighting again."

Alex nodded. "That's a good plan. Just holler at us if things get a bit too real, right?"

He gave Ronald another pat on the shoulder and then he rejoined Fabian in line. "Just what the hell was that crack about margaritas? Are you implying you want like...a threesome?"

"Give me some credit," muttered Olson. "I'm not so crass. I was only trying to banter and lighten the mood. That wasn't what I meant it to sound like."

Alexander chuckled a little nervously and slipped his hand into the taller man's. "Just making sure. I'm not sure how to read you yet."

"I've got no intention of sharing you," assured Fabian softly, squeezing his hand, "with anyone."

Alex shivered at the possessive caress of his tone. They still hadn't consummated their relationship yet. Fabian was being very patient with him, but with each kiss and caress Alex came closer to dropping his virgin inhibitions and demanding that the Dane just give it to him already.

"Let's just make it through this," he whispered, "and then maybe I'll let you stake your claim." He blushed even as he said it, but he didn't regret his words when Fabian looked at him with intrigue.

"Nothing will get past me to you," promised the Dane softly.

Alex smirked.

* * *

The Undertaker's group went through the portal first, quickly followed by Anderson's team. The dolls were already in action and there was a blight of confused chaos on the floor as reapers battled the undead host descending on them. Undertaker and Grell led the charge, with the former laughing like a fiend and the latter grinning like a shark. Eric came up behind them, using his body as a weapon just as often as his scythe. He elbowed one enemy agent in the face and he kicked another one halfway across the room. While his coupled companions ahead of him seemed intent on wreaking as much havoc as they possibly could, Eric himself was thinking only of getting this job done so that he could make their world a safer place for his family.

Anderson fired at two separate Revivalist agents, bringing them both down without mortal injuries. As they fell clutching their kneecaps, he shouted orders to his group. "Spread out and do not let a single enemy escape or teleport! Cover the Undertaker's team so that they can make it up to the next floor. Hold this area, everyone!"

Alex's hands were shaking as he blocked an attack with his weed-whacker scythe. It had been such a long time since he'd faced down an opponent physically. He yelled as the bigger reaper started to overpower him. Somehow he'd gotten separated from Olson, and he could see his lover some ten feet away. There were both dolls and reapers between the two of them.

"Shit!"

"Pick on someone your own size, you gigantic dick!" Ronald shouted from above, and the blond came down scythe first onto the large reaper. Last moment as the reaper looked up at him, Ronald twisted his body in the air and his heel connected with his opponent's cheek, knocking him down so that the blades of his lawnmower scythe cut into his arms and legs first. He still couldn't bring himself to kill fellow reapers—enemy or not. He pulled back on his attack before he cut too deep. He then took his gun scythe and shot regular bullets into the chest of another reaper coming up behind Alex.

"Come on, Salty, show these losers that you are more than a nerd. You know how to fight. I remember seeing you kick butt when we were students."

He'd just gotten through the portal himself, and he joined the fight when he saw Alex in trouble. So far, he felt like he was handling himself well.

Alex put his back against Ronald's and he tried to steady himself. Yes, he'd been trained and he'd done well on all of his exams...but Dispatch hadn't assigned him any fieldwork after realizing his potential with computer networking. He put his trust into Ronald and he stuck close to him, drawing his gun scythe and following his companion's example. He missed a shot and he panicked when one of their opponents closed in on him. He hastily grabbed up one of the packets of salt he kept in his jacket and he tore it open, throwing the grains into the eyes of the charging reaper. When the man stumbled and fell, he took advantage and he reaped him. Exhilarated by his success, he turned his head to speak to Ronald.

"Hah! Bet you don't think my pocket salt is so nasty now, huh?"

"Hmm?" Ronald shot two more opponents before glancing over his shoulder and spotting the man clutching his eyes under his glasses.

"Still nasty," Ron smirked, "but handy at the moment."

The blond kicked out at a female reaper, causing her to lose balance and he grabbed her hand holding a gun scythe as he felt a bullet whiz past his ear, close enough he could feel the heat from the bullet. He wrenched the gun from her, his normal scythe dismissing itself as he took one gun in each hand.

"Don't panic, Salty, you'll waste more ammo that way." he said as he saw how Alex was missing his targets.

"Yeah, I see that," muttered Alex.

He was beginning to regret his decision to join in the raid. He'd wanted to take a more active role and be at Fabians side—Ronald's as well, since he still felt partly responsible for William's demise. So far he was proving to be more of a liability than an asset. He heard a wild yell and he turned to see Fabian take a leap that could only be described as heroic. The Dane's blond ponytail flew like a banner in the air behind him as he jumped over the embattled masses to land just beside Alex, and he swept his formidable battle axe in a wide arch to cleave the enemy reaper that Alexander had failed to notice coming up behind him. The opponent was practically cut in two, his cinematic records spilling out and flailing wildly as he fell.

"Th-thanks," Alex managed, awed by the gorgeous Dane's combat prowess.

"Pay attention, Alexander," advised Fabian with a grunt as he kicked out at another enemy. "I'll not lose you."

Alex gulped, his heart stirring at the quiet passion in Fabian's declaration. Oh yeah...this man was definitely getting some after this fight. "I'll try to be more careful. Ronnie, you okay?" He turned to look back at his blond companion, remembering he was still fighting at his back.

"I—think so." Ron said, voice faltering when he saw a bullet slam through an enemy's head. He didn't know who shot the reaper, but his eyes widened and his breath caught as suddenly he was watching William falling to the ground with his records spilling out again.

"No—not good. He forced himself to turn away. The sight was too much for him. He knew it wasn't William...but how many deaths like that could he handle before he forgot that? "Damn it, don't aim for the heads!"

Lawrence noticed his trouble and he pushed through the fray to come to Ronald's side. "Ronald, if it's too much for you there's no shame in opting to go back. I can cover you whilst you make a portal."

Alex heard the elder's advice and he himself was feeling rather shaky. "I'll go back with you if you want," he sighed, admitting that combat was not his strong point. He looked at Fabian. "Would you think less of me?"

"Of course not," assured the tall blond reaper. "I did not want you here in the first place, Alexander. The attempt alone is heroic, on your part."

Alex bit his lip and he looked around as the Undertaker created a portal to lead his team through. So much violence...so much death. He could see the trauma in Knox's eyes and he imagined Ronald couldn't handle much more of this. They were trying to be merciful and aim to wound rather than kill, but in the wild fray there were no guarantees. He saw that three of the enemy reapers had dropped their weapons and put their hands up. Eric Slingby was already cuffing them.

"Ronald, maybe we should duck out of this," he urged.

Ronald hesitated. He was one of their best shots, but what good was he when he was starting to see his lover killed over and over again? It was a little too close to his heart.

"Alright, it'd be for the best." he agreed, pocketing his guns and summoned his scythe to start opening a portal for two.

* * *

Grell ripped through an opponent with his chainsaw, severing their arm from their body; "This would be easier just to kill them!" he grunted in frustration. But their board had decided to try to minimize deaths of our opponents, and he had to be careful of what he cut into.

He caught the arm by the hand and grinned, "Nice to meet you. I've just given you a first class ticket to the hospital. Maybe you should use it now." he tossed the arm at its owner.

The Undertaker laughed uproariously at Grell's pun, even as he cut the leg out from under one of their other opponents. "The important thing is to have fun while we work, love."

He himself was barely holding back. He wanted this all to be over with, so that he could go back to being his old mad mortician self. His work uniform just didn't feel right on him anymore. He missed his robes and his hat and he missed his shop. The only thing keeping him from cracking up right now beneath all of this celebrity pressure was his lover.

Undertaker barely managed to avoid lobbing the head right off of another opponent, and right as he started to lead his team into the small building's Dispatch center, he heard a bang and he felt the hot slug of an enemy bullet slam into his ribs. He fell against the wall and he coughed up blood, somewhat disoriented by the unexpected hit. He looked up in time to see the agent that had shot him getting ready to fire again, and he spun his death scythe just in time to deflect the bullet off the blade.

Eric Slingby dove in to take out the enemy agent before he could fire a third time, and the Undertaker drew a ragged breath. "Grell...lead 'em on," he gasped to his lover. He didn't need to breathe, but he couldn't issue orders with his lungs filling with blood, and he wasn't ready to retreat.

Grell spun on his heels when he heard the shot; just in time to see his lover collapse against the wall. Everything seemed to slow down around him. Even as Eric brought his scythe down into Undertaker's attacker before he even had a chance to do so.

He stood in shock as the realization sank in that Undertaker was actually down. His Undertaker. His lovely mortician and the legendary death god that everyone looked up to. He was down and the redhead was all of a sudden aware of the smell of blood.

Nothing else mattered to him in that moment. He rushed to his lover's side, dismissing his order to take the lead in Undertaker's place. He needed to know that his lover would survive - that his wounds were not nearly as severe as they seemed.

He knelt down, touched the spot where the bullet entered his torso. "You're bleeding!" he gasped, "Unnie-"

"Went clean through," explained the Undertaker with a shake of his head. He turned painfully to show Grell the exit wound. "Least it's...not inside me."

He coughed and blood flecked his lips as he struggled back to his feet. "It's fine, love. I can...hold out 'till we...finish this. Just a bit...hard t' talk right now."

Eric hurried to their side and he helped Grell support the staggering ancient. "I dun' think ya should stay, 'Taker. Ye'll bleed out if someone doesnae patch this."

"Med kit," coughed the Undertaker with a nod at the pack strapped to Eric's waist. They all had one and they'd all been trained in basic first aid for just such emergencies. "Take me...out of the line of fire...and patch me up. I'll be fine."

Eric compressed his lips and he looked at Grell. "What do ya think, Grell? Listen tae th' stubborn auld man or should I manhandle him through a portal?" Of course, trying to drag the mortician through by force might open his wound up further, but they couldn't afford to lose him. If the Undertaker went down, morale would plummet, and their chances of winning the day would suffer. The free reaper world was looking to them for guidance and courage, and if they found out Legendary Death was vanquished, the revolution would likely die with him.

Grell bit down on his lip in thought. Bandages wouldn't save him from the pain that obviously brought him down, and it was unknown if the bullet was a scythe bullet or not. If it wasn't, Undertaker could be healed up quickly and could fight on unhindered. But if it was scythe damage...he'd need soul thread to stitch it up and then he'd have to take care for it not to rip back open again for the next week or so.

He shook his head, "Unnie put me in charge, that means he has to follow my orders right now! Take him back to get looked at. If it was a normal bullet he can come back. if it was a scythe then he has to stay in their care! This _is_ an order, Unnie!"

The silver reaper's bloodied lips twisted into a grin, displaying equally stained teeth. "Such vehemence, li'l rose."

"He's right," Eric said as he pulled the Undertaker's jacket and shirt open to bandage the injury as best he could. "We cannae risk losing ya, an' we've go' Father Anderson tae help lead us through tha rest o' this."

Eric shook his head at how quickly the bandages were soaking through, and he glanced at Grell. "If ye'll make tha portal, I'll escort him through an' come back after I've gotten him tae th' infirmary."

"Cover us while I open it." Grell nodded, turning and using his chainsaw to cut open a portal, taking care to ensure it'd be stable. As he did so he heard Eric deflect a few bullets before he'd finished.

"Alright, get him through and then join us again, Eric. I'll lead our group on to the next area like Unnie wants me to. Be careful when you come back."

"Aye." Eric grunted a little as he draped the injured mortician's arm around his neck and helped him to his feet. "Come on, auld man. Let's get ya some medical help."

"Grell," coughed the Undertaker, looking to his lover as Eric guided him to the portal. "Watch yourself, love."

"You can count on me, Darling." Grell turned as Eric and Undertaker disappeared, "Alright, Unnie passed the torch onto me! Lets all move on!" he called out the order and took the lead, rushing scythe-first through the doors to be met with more of the revivalists forces.

* * *

Eric and the Undertaker stumbled through the portal together and they arrived in the lobby of London Headquarters. "We need a medic," he hollered, stopping several staff in their tracks. He spotted Alan by the stairs leading up from the lobby to the first floor and he half-dragged his companion over with him. "Alan, would ya contact infirmary an' let 'em know we've go' ano'er injured one tae take care of?"

The Undertaker's blood was soaking into Eric's shirt, making it difficult to tell who was the injured one between them.

Alan eyed the two with wide eyes, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask which one of them was hurt, but Eric seemed too calm and Undertaker had a hint of pain on his features. He let out a small sigh of relief and nodded before calling over two officers.

"Take Mister Undertaker to the infirmary." he instructed them and they took the elder from Eric, supporting him between them both. Alan was then free to approach his husband, "You aren't hurt, too, are you?"

Eric shook his head. "Nah, it's all his blood." He bent over to kiss Alan on the lips. "Now tha' I've gotten him here, I'd better get back. So far we're winning, but wi' tha loss o' Undertaker we might start losin' ground. Dun' want tae leave tha teams anymore short-handed than I must. Is Matt a'right?"

"He was moody when I put him down for a nap, but otherwise he's perfectly fine. He's probably just worried about his daddy getting hurt.I know I am." Alan said, kissing Eric's cheek, "Please be careful."

"Absolutely," promised the Scotsman. "I've a family tae come back to now."

He backed away reluctantly and he began forming the portal back to the site of combat. "Love yeh, Alan. Take good care o' our son an' keep tha faith."

"And no more scythe injuries! The last one you got was a pain for us to get healed when you kept popping stitches!" Alan called out before his husband disappeared. He sighed and placed a hand over his heart, closing his eyes, "Come back to me."

* * *

To be continued


	29. Chapter 29

Eric stepped through the portal to arrive in a scene straight out of hell. He hadn't meant to arrive in the lobby again, but there he was and there were bodies all over the floor. Undertaker's bizarre dolls were feeding on the corpses and the sight was so ghastly that even a reaper like Eric couldn't help but recoil. He was rarely troubled by the sight of blood and gore but this was too much even for him. The Scot clamped a hand over his mouth as the sight and smell of it all threatened to make him lose his breakfast. He quickly sprinted towards the emergency stairs, foregoing the elevator as a possible death trap. He ran into two enemy reapers on his way up, but they wanted nothing to do with him. Realizing they were only trying to escape when they didn't draw weapons on him, Eric called out a warning.

"Wouldn't go down tae th' lobby if I were yeh. It's full o' zombies an' they aren't gonna let yeh pass as they did me."

The pair—a tall man with brown hair and a younger, shorter one with blond hair—stopped in their tracks and regarded him uncertainly. Eric sighed and combed his fingers through his wavy locks, considering the best course of action to take. "If ya surrender yer weapons tae me an' cooperate, I'll see tae it yer fairly treated. Ye'll even be released tae yer organization wi' any others we've taken prisoner, when this day's o'er."

They looked at each other, weighing their options. The blond was shaking visibly and Eric found himself feeling sorry for him. The kid couldn't be any older than Ronald was—possibly even younger. "I'm no' misleading ya," promised Eric in a gentler voice. "Our goal's only tae take back our branches yer associates stole from us. We've only been killing when we've had no other choice, lad."

The brunet slowly withdrew his pistol, nodding at his younger companion assertively. "Surrender to the Scotsman, Daniel. We've little other choice."

Eric took their weapons—including their original death scythes. He nodded and jerked his whiskered chin at the stairs. "Yer making tha right choice. Now head up tha stairs tae the Dispatch office floor. I'll be right behind ya."

He wasn't foolish enough to turn his back on them even though they'd cooperated and relinquished their scythes to him. The pair started up the stairs and Eric waited for them to get in front of him before following. They made it up to the Dispatch floor after a while and Eric was relieved to see that his people were still holding the area. Several Revivalist agents were cuffed and sitting against the wall, and Lawrence was shouting orders. Evidently the two teams had met up again and Eric could see Grell cuffing another enemy.

"Got two more fer ya," announced Eric. "Ran intae these two on my way up. They surrendered tae me."

"You get my Unnie to safety?" Grell asked, pulling out another pair of cuffs and slapping them onto Daniel's wrists before moving to do the same to his companion. "Go have a seat with your friends in the blood-free zone."

The redhead jerked his head to the wall where all their prisoners were lined up, "And behave yourselves, We don't need any more of you trying to fight us in the safe zone. That kind of defeats the point of it all." He ushered the two in the direction of the wall and returned his gaze to Eric. There was no hiding the worry in his eyes.

"They're taking care o' yer man right now," assured Eric. "I'm sure he'll be fine, Grell. He'll be cracking his morbid jokes again in no time."

He looked around as Fabian's team prepared to move on to the next floor. "So are we staying here tae keep this floor secured, or are we moving up wi' them tae clear out ano'er one?"

"We're moving up. I have assigned a few of our agents to keep this floor secure and keep watch of these ones." Grell jabbed his thumb at the line of captives, "I'm assuming this raid won't last much longer. The real fighters all met us right off. As we move up we get more and more kids who'd just as soon make a run for it. Some of them surrender right off without even drawing their scythes. It makes for a dull fight."

He turned to address the others on his team. "Lets head on up to the next level! Those of you staying here, keep this one secure. We'll send down any more prisoners to you as we get them. Uhh-you." he pointed to one of their agents from their original group, "You're in charge down here."

The agent nodded and gave the "death" salute. Anderson checked his watch and he nodded at the exit. "I shall remain behind while you and Mister Olson lead your teams up to the next level, agent Sutcliff. Should anything go amiss I will contact you immediately. Hopefully the remaining enemy agents have not had the opportunity to send for aid and we can finish this without any further casualties."

"Right, let's go," said Eric with enthusiasm. He was right by Grell's side as they left through the exit and charged up the stairs behind Fabian's team. Grell was absolutely right; the only Revivalists they ran into on the next floor were fledgling reapers, and only a few put up a fight at all. Most of them threw their hands up in surrender the moment they saw the Dispatch agents pour out of the fire escape door.

Eric got the satisfaction of shooting one of them in the leg as he tried to make a break for the window, and he saw Grell block the attack of another and counter it with his chainsaw. The rest wanted nothing to do with a fight.

"Disappointing," observed Fabian as he counted out the numbers. "I haven't even been scratched today."

Eric did a mental check of the layout as Father Anderson had described it. "Damn, this is tha last floor, too. I'll take a few agents wi' me tae check tha bathrooms an' supply closets on this floor while yeh an' Grell take care o' tha prisoners."

"Look in the air ducts as well," suggested Olson. "Earlier I found one of them hiding in one of them."

"I'm out of restraints, Hey, Ronnie, lend me a hand?" Grell said, pulling the agent he'd disarmed up to his feet. But of course he didn't get a response from the blond.

"Ronnie?" Grell blinked, looking around the room, "Where's Ronald? He' not hurt is he? You! Girl, you were my Ronnie's partner, right? where is he? -Hey! If you try running again, I promise I'll cut both your feet from your legs!" he warned his captive.

The German girl shook her head, "We were separated quickly. I think spotted him fighting along side that computer guy in the first section we took. I have been working with these two." she glanced at the reapers next to her.

"What computer guy? Has anyone else seen Ronald?" he called out in worry.

Fabian heard him and he was quick to reassure him. "He and Alexander left together earlier," explained the Danish reaper. "Alex was not coping well with the battle and Ronald chose to go with him. They're both safe."

Grell let out a sigh of relief, "As long as he isn't hurt somewhere-or worse. Okay, lets get this place wrapped up nice and secure. " As he spoke, Grell yanked a phone cord from a desk phone and used it to tie the reaper's hands with skill. It wasn't as secure as cuffs, but it'd do for now.

Fabian assisted him and he ordered one of his team members to escort the new prisoners down to Anderson. Eric came jogging back a few moments later, and the group he'd taken with him brought with them two more young reapers. One of them had a stain on his crotch and the Scotsman glanced at him with a blend of disgust and pity as he spoke to Grell.

"This looks like all of 'em. I think we can handle things here if ya want tae portal back tae London Headquarters and check in on yer man, Grell." He looked to Anderson. "Pops, are ya ready tae send word out fer negotiations?"

Lawrence turned away from the agent he was speaking with and he nodded. "I shall inform Mr. Jeffries immediately and advise him to come assist. Please see to it that any injured prisoners are seen to and offer all of them refreshment, Agent Slingby."

Eric nodded and he turned back to Grell. "Sound good tae yeh, Grell?"

Grell nodded, "At least Unnie didn't miss much." he sighed, "I'll send our Mister Alex back over for communications with the enemy."

With that, Grell opened up a portal back and stepped through. Once back in London, he sent word that the battle was over and that Anderson would be soon ready to try to negotiate.

* * *

The infirmary wasn't nearly as busy as it had been after they had retaken London, and Grell quickly spotted his silver lover laying on his side as a medical reaper stitched him up with soul thread.

"So it was serious." Grell observed, walking over to him and reaching out to brush silver bangs away from his face, "You didn't miss much. They surrendered quickly after that first wave of fighting."

"Ah, pooh," grumbled the mortician playfully, offering a wan smile up at his lover. "And here I was hoping there might be more carnage." His eyes were fully visible thanks to the haircut he'd accepted to look more like his old self, and they caressed Grell intimately. "No ouchies, eh? 'Course, I'll be happy to give you a more thorough look-over later on after they let me out of here."

He winked at Grell suggestively, in good humor even though his lips were virtually colorless and there were dark circles under his eyes. Fortunately they'd deadened the area around his injury, so he couldn't feel the needle going in as they stitched him up.

"I'll gladly strip down and let you touch, but you are to get rest and heal up, my love." Grell leaned over and stole a kiss. "I'll be sure to reward you if you can be a good boy while you heal up. I'll make you cookies and everything."

"Mm, cookies," sighed the mortician. "That a promise, love?" The medic informed that she was finished with his back and she requested that he roll over so that she could inspect what she'd already done with the exit wound in the front. Undertaker obliged and he looked down with mild interest to inspect the work himself. "Your suturing's improved, love," he complimented her.

Jenna glanced up with a smile of pleasure. "Thank you, sir. I've done my best to improve. It seems we're all done here so why don't you just relax and chat with your spouse for a while?"

Undertaker almost explained to her that Grell wasn't his spouse, but then he looked at the crimson reaper and he couldn't stop staring. Why in buggery Styx _not_ , after all? They'd nearly had a child together and he could barely keep his hands off of him. All it took from Grell was a glance to make the Undertaker randy and breathless.

He kept staring as the nurse left them alone together, and he finally blurted his thoughts out after a moment. "Why aren't we married yet, darlin'?"

Grell blinked in surprise, "Because we have only had time for one wedding and Allie stole up that spot with his handsome Scot," he said simply. He slipped onto the uncomfortably firm infirmary bed and let Undertaker place his head in his lap. "And you never seemed interested in such a commitment. It is one level of a relationship even I wouldn't push, Darling, it's a huge step for reapers and it can't be reversed, unlike human marriage."

The mortician closed his eyes, thinking the matter over as he absently kneaded Grell's thigh like a cat. "I've been thinking," he murmured, cracking his eyes open again and staring at the wall through the veil of his lashes, "mayhap after all we've been through together it mightn't be such a bad idea."

What he really wanted to say was that he'd also been considering the conversation they'd had about trying again someday for another baby. In his heart, however, he feared bringing that particular matter up again. That loss had been so unexpectedly painful for the both of them, and he wondered if he should wait longer to make mention of it. He turned his head and he looked up at his lover. "I was never much for that sort of commitment before, I know. Things have changed though, m'dear."

"Are you sure you want this with me?" Grell asked with an unsure frown. "Our love hasn't exactly been...fairytale. Eric and Alan have a perfect connection—hell, even Will and Ron had a better love than us. You and I...we sort of...broke up twice. Whenever we're thrown a shock by fate, you leave and I get angry..."

He sighed and leaned back, looking upwards. "I love you more than I have ever loved anyone else, but I can't help but question if we should take the vows of marriage. I never thought I'd say this, but I need time to think on it, and I think you should, too."

The Undertaker fought off a sense of acute disappointment and he somehow resisted sulking. Yes, he'd made some bad decisions during the course of their relationship, but he'd never expected to fall so deeply in love with this reaper. The way he saw it, their ability to stay together despite the hurt and the loss and the strife was proof enough...but he wasn't the sort to let himself feel sorry for himself for too terribly long. He saw the pitying look that Jenna gave him and he shook his head at her in silent warning not to get emotionally invested in his personal issues.

"That's fine, love," he murmured to Grell, shutting his eyes again so that the redhead wouldn't see the hurt in his gaze. "You do what you need t' do. It's all anyone can expect after all this."

Maybe real love simply wasn't in the works for him. Maybe he really was destined to be a crazy old hermit alone forever, after all was said and done. He'd managed to make it this far under such circumstances and he doubted he'd have really noticed the difference if it weren't for Grell finding his way into his heart.

_~I should just make myself scarce when we've finished with all this. Vanish for a while and mayhap set up shop in some other location...lick my wounds and...and what?~_

The Undertaker frowned, familiar with this impulsive thought pattern. Hiding. That's what he'd been doing for so long, and he was so used to it that it was almost second nature to him. It was his first reaction to rejection. How could he prove he was serious to Grell if he vanished into the night at the earliest opportunity?

But it did hurt...

"I'm sorry." Grell looked back down at Undertaker and rubbed his cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Let's just...stay as we are for a while longer before making such a commitment. Let's make sure what we have is real. That those two times where we were apart were just flukes. That it wasn't because we aren't as compatible as we feel we are."

He bent over and kissed Undertaker's eyelids. "I want to marry you, but I want to make sure it's the right thing for us both."

Hearing Grell admit that he did want to wed him salved the sting of rejection somewhat, and the Undertaker dared to open his eyes again to gaze up at him. He forced a smile for his benefit and he tried to sound light-hearted. "No rush, darlin'. It's just a thought that's been going through my head since...since..."

He trailed off uncertainly. When Grell had told him he wanted to try again someday, he'd been the one to suggest they wait and revisit the idea when things calmed down. Now there he was doing the same thing—even if it was a different sort of proposal. The mortician pushed aside the part of him that wondered why Grell would suggest trying for another baby if he wasn't certain they were compatible, because he still believed that at the time, Grell's suggestion was born of grief.

A low chuckle escaped his lips. "My, my," he breathed, his grin becoming more genuine. I'm a hypocritical ol' fart at times."

"How so?" Grell met his gaze, clearly unaware of all that was going on in the elder's mind.

Undertaker waited until the medic was finished with him and he asked her for a private moment before answering the question. When she nodded respectfully and left, he addressed Grell again. "You remember when you brought up the possibility of trying again after we lost our little one? How I cautioned to give it more time to be sure it was right for us, or whatnot?"

He couldn't recall _exactly_ what he'd said but that was the gist of it.

Grell nodded solemnly, "I do. And you were right to do so." He rubbed his hand along Undertaker's arm, "And I still want to try again later. But we don't need to take the vows to try having another child. Many parents never take the vows..." he pointed out.

"I s'pose so," sighed the Undertaker. He was growing sleepy from the pain medications they'd given him. It certainly took long enough for it to set in, but he had a rather high tolerance to such things. He was still inwardly disappointed, but that was just his boyish side speaking. He really did understand Grell's reasoning. He started to drift off to sleep with his head resting on his lover's lap, still absently kneading his thigh.

He wasn't even consciously aware of it when he mumbled: "Love you, li'l rose."

"I love you too, Darling." Grell smiled, "Go to sleep. I'll bring you to our room once they let you go."

Which he did. Once he was given clearance to take Undertaker out, the redhead gathered his lover into his arms, carrying the legendary reaper bridal-style to his office and laying him out on the unfolded futon. He stripped the man's boots off before tucking him in and kissing his cheek.

After the successful takeover of the Manchester branch, the Dispatch loyalists began to spread out and take back other smaller branches. The Undertaker recovered with remarkable speed, to the surprise of his colleagues. Eric could only shake his head at the ancient's rapid healing, recalling all too well how long it had taken him to mend from a scythe gunshot wound. He'd been laid up for days himself and the simple act of trying to be intimate with Alan had re-opened his wound and gotten him bedridden for a further three days.

"How do ya do it, auld man?" He asked the Undertaker as they walked together to a meeting, eight days after taking back Manchester headquarters. "Yer spry as a teenager an' planning tae go on tha next raid. It took me two blasted weeks tae heal up enough tae be fit fer a fight, last time I caught a scythe bullet."

The mortician shrugged his lean shoulders and cast a sidelong grin at Eric. "Could be us ancients are just made better, chap. You know the old saying: 'They don't make 'em like they used to'."

Eric snorted. "Keep dreaming."

The Undertaker laughed, finding Eric's resentment amusing. He patted him on the shoulder solicitously as they opened the door to join the gathering. "You'll do fine. I'm just a fossil and mayhap my skin's grown a bit thicker over time."

Inside the meeting room, all of the council leaders were already seated—including Grell, Ronald and Alex. Due to their hard work, they had been promoted. Undertaker took his seat next to Grell and Eric sat down beside Alan as Lawrence began the meeting.

"Sorry we're late," murmured Eric to his spouse. "Have we missed anything?"

Alan shook his head, "The meeting hasn't started yet. But Matthew missed his daddy." The baby boy in question was laying comfortably against his mother's shoulder, the leg of a plush purple cat with a rattle inside clutched in his fist and dangling down.

Matt was a happy, quiet baby when all his needs were met, so with a fresh nappy and a full tummy, Alan had brought him to the meeting, knowing that he wouldn't start fussing.

The brunet then, not caring to wait for Eric to agree to it or get ready, transferred the baby into his father's arms. The boy let out a happy giggle to greet the man, reaching up to grab at the tuft of hair on Eric's chin. The action earned more than a few adoring smiles from those in the room before eyes turned to Lawrence.

Anderson also smiled at the picture that the small family made together, and then he sobered a bit and he took his pipe out. He would never light it during a meeting even though he'd recently been able to purchase new tobacco. It was always his go-to just to gather his thoughts. He sucked on it for a moment before addressing the assembly.

"Well then, let's get this meeting underway, shall we?" He stood up at the head of the table and he cleared his throat before continuing. "Our broadcast after taking back the Manchester branch has caused quite a stir. People are beginning to rally behind us and more agents that have been drafted into the Revivalist ranks have begun to push back. It came to our attention this morning that the New York branch in reaper America has been taken back by our allies. That still leaves Copenhagen and at least six more capital branches to liberate, but we've accomplished an incredible number of things since re-taking our division."

He paused and he went to his seat to pick up a file folder on the table before it, and he opened it to read through it before going on. "I propose that our next target be the Copenhagen branch in Denmark." He glanced at Fabian Olson as the flaxen-haired reaper straightened up a bit in his chair with interest. "We have been promising to move in on Copenhagen for some time now, and I believe our numbers are great enough for a liberation attempt. I propose a strike on Copenhagen Dispatch headquarters, as soon as possible."

"Gahh!" Matthew was the first to voice his approval, though his attentions were more focused on his father and his toy cat.

Grell giggled, "The youngest has spoken, and he agrees it is a good plan. Now we just need our plan of attack."

Ronald nodded and turned his gaze to Fabian, "You, uh... Salty's boyfriend." he flushed, not recalling the man's name. "Isn't that where you are from or something? You'd know the layout of the place, right?"

Fabian nodded and a small smirk adorned his lips. "Like the back of my hand, friend."

Alex grinned at the Dane. "Then I'd best pick your brain today and work out the best route of attack on the schematic I'm going to no doubt be snatching from their database—provided I can get past their system securities." He sighed and looked up at Lawrence. "Father Anderson, I've got one request. Give me at least two days to break past their securities and get that data. Three would actually be best, in fact. If we can pre-map the attack and review it with the teams the day before, it'd really help out our chances."

Lawrence nodded. "Of course. I believe that is a perfectly reasonable request for the Council to agree with. What say you, ladies and gentlemen?" He looked around at the assembly expectantly.

The Undertaker made a toasting motion with his coffee. "Here, here. This one's going to be as tough as London branch was to take back—could be even tougher. I've got no objection to giving the lad an extra day t' pull up an attack plan that might help us through this easier. I myself haven't been to Copenhagen Dispatch in well over a century, so I'd probably end up leading my team into a maintenance closet if I went by my fuzzy memory. Not much of a fight to be had there."

Eric started to voice his agreement when Matthew began to fuss. The pungent aroma of soiled diapers reached his nose and he quickly shifted the infant in his arms and apologized to his compatriots. "Sorry, I'll go' tae change him or he'll cause a distraction. I'm voting 'aye' tae tha motion an' if I miss anything important, Alan can fill me in."

He got up and he made sure to pick up the baby's dropped rattle before assuring his spouse he'd handle it and leaving the meeting room with their son.

"Any dirty nappy I don't have to change is a good one in my book." Alan chuckled as Eric slipped out. He then turned back to the topic at hand. "I'll be happy to assist you, Alex, as I did when we took back London. I like being of help despite my choice not to take part in the fighting so I can be with my son."

"Hey, that reminds me." Ronald reached over to tap the table in front of Alex. "I want to talk to you after the meeting about something a little off topic to bring up here, so no disappearing on me, okay?"

Alexander shrugged. "Sure, that's fine by me. Uh, Mr. Humphries, thanks for that offer. I'm not going to say 'no' because any help is welcome. I really appreciate it that you're offering to step up on that. Not to be mean but some of my other helpers...er...well..." he scratched his head and he blushed and shrugged when Fabian smirked at him. "They mean well but they sometimes hinder more than help. No offense to them."

Fabian's smirk grew into a crooked grin and he glanced away. "None taken. It was the thought that counted. I haven't the head for your specialty, truthfully."

Alex blew a sigh of visible relief, and Lawrence sat back down in his chair at the head of the table after counting raised hands. "It seems we are unanimous. In three days time—provided there are no issues or discrepancies—we shall assemble all strike teams for the liberation mission in Copenhagen. Team leaders, please review new recruits and ensure that they are evenly distributed amongst you. Are there any further questions or concerns that anyone would like to bring up before this meeting comes to a close?"

Nobody offered anything, and Lawrence nodded with satisfaction. "Well and good, then. Mister Jeffries, please do not hesitate to ask for further assistance if required and try not to rush yourself. Everyone else should attempt to get in as much rest as possible, in the meantime."

Once everyone filed out of the boardroom, Ronald caught up to Alex, glancing up at the other boy's lover as he started to speak.

"Um, I know we haven't always gotten along, at least until recently, and...don't take this too hard, but you totally suck at fighting. It's like you forgot what we learned in the academy," he started, getting right to the point.

"I've been thinking since you and I abandoned ship on that last raid... Will's death is too fresh in my heart for me to be of help on raids if people get taken out by headshots...but I still have the skills to fight and defend myself should something happen and the bad guys come raid us, you know?"

He sighed and met Alex's confused gaze, "I want to help teach you to fight again so you won't be so rusty if that happens. I don't want to lose anyone else I care about-and that includes you, Salt-erm, Alex. It doesn't have to be much... just, like, an hour or so after dinner each day."

Alexander was completely taken off-guard by the offer and he put a hand on Fabian's arm when he sensed the older reaper tensing up in response to Ronald's frank comment. He sighed and he took his cap off, running his fingers through his reddish-brown locks.

"All right, I'm gonna level with you here, Lem—er—Ronald. I never even wanted to join Dispatch. My parents wanted me to and well...they both died on the job some thirty years ago. Doesn't really matter I guess. Dispatch kept me on the payroll because I can do things with the aether systems that most people can't and that came in handy. If you really want to teach me to be...uh...less of a nancy in a fight, well I'm happy to do that with you when we can both spare the minutes. Even if I don't go back to reaping again I'd like pointers on defending myself if you think you've got some to give. I just want you to know that I'm never going to have what it takes to be a field agent like you. I solve problems, man. That's what I'm good at. I don't want ya to get frustrated trying to teach me something I'm just not cut out for; but I'm willing to try and learn anything you can show me."

Alex lowered his eyes and he struggled to come up with a closing for the response. Aside from Fabian he really had nobody else he could call his ally. "I also...yanno...appreciate you calling me by name and not just 'Salty'. I know I've got some weird habits and such, but it's nice to see someone try and look past them now and then. Especially someone that didn't really like me. So um...thanks for that."

"It's just for a safety precaution," Ronald promised. "Everyone should know how to defend themselves, and you proved to be too rusty at it." He sighed and turned to the window, looking out at the blue skies.

"To tell you the truth, this whole thing has changed me too. I used to be so damned reckless...and now...I think I'd rather stick to paperwork. At least for a while after this is all over. Field work...could be too tempting for my recklessness right now, and Will wouldn't like that. I don't know-we all have some big life choices to make after this is over. Maybe I'll stop dispatch all together and become a combat teacher at the academy...I was pretty darn good at teaching people to use the guns, so maybe I have a talent for it."

Alex nodded. "I could see that. I guess a few of us are going to have to re-think where we fit in best once this is all over with."

His thoughts went to Fabian and he sighed. The man always seemed so sure of himself...so fierce in a fighting situation. Fabian had tried to school him in combat but it usually ended in groping, with little training to be had by the end. Maybe Ronald would be different. They were both around the same age and there was no sexual frustration to get in the way.

Finally, Alex nodded. "Yeah, I think that'd be good. I keep getting uh...distracted when I try to spar with Fabian and it doesn't end the way it should."

He kept out the part where they ended up making out. That wasn't what Knox needed to hear.

Ronald gave a rueful smirk, "I'm in love, too. I know how trying to train with that special someone can be. When I taught Will to shoot I took advantage of touching...probably was a bit too distracting, to be honest. But don't worry, I won't be that way with you. It was just him. Fabian can come too, if you want him there for security reasons. He may have some pointers I didn't think of."

"Nah, Fabian's real busy and so am I," sighed Alex. "I'll find time to squeeze it in. Don't want to pull him away from his responsibilities if I can help it."

The auburn-haired young reaper summoned his scythe and he examined the black and gold weed-eater thoughtfully. The silver blades that rotated on it were the only variation in the color scheme of it. "You know, even if I decide to give up my position with Dispatch when this is all over with, it's going to be hard to give up this scythe. I know I'm not the best at fighting with it, but it's become sort of a part of me. I honestly don't _like_ reaping and that's why I didn't mind them assigning me to technical support...but...we're reapers."

He made a face at his own words, wondering how he would manage to balance what he loved to do with what he was basically _made_ to do. Not all reapers became Dispatch agents of course; there were plenty of civilian sorts that had mundane jobs and never even set foot in the Great Library or Dispatch headquarters. He couldn't quite silence the voice of his dearly departed father though, reminding him always that he was a god of death and there was no greater honor than wielding a custom made scythe suited for his hands alone. Even civilian reapers had basic scythes allotted to them, but only Dispatch officers were granted the legal right to order a custom-designed one made for them.

"Hey, you earned that thing." Ronald said, patting his shoulder before leaning against the wall, "Just as I earned mine and Legendary Death earned his. I don't think it's right that we have to give it up if we leave Dispatch, ya know? If we break major rules, sure, but if we retire?" he shook his head. "Thing is, we are rebuilding the Dispatch we know and support. That rule may change."

Alexander relaxed, finding Ronald's words comforting. He again reflected on how the other young reaper had matured since they lost Spears and he wondered how he might have changed if it had been Fabian instead. He reached out and patted Ron's shoulder, resisting a sigh of sympathy. Knox didn't need him reminding him of his loss. He could tell that William was always on his mind anyway, and he believed he wasn't imagining things when he said he saw the man's ghost that time.

"I appreciate that, Ronnie. Even though we got off on the wrong foot initially, I kind of think of you as a friend...and I hope you feel the same. If ya ever need an ear t' vent to, mine's always free."

Ronald gave a small nod. "I think I can call you a friend despite how we started out," he agreed. Being on the run certainly had a way of bringing people together. Friendships were both formed and strengthened, and for some, true love was discovered. Their group would never be the same, and Ronald knew it.

"It's almost a shame, splitting up and forging new lives after so long being together...all of us."

Alex nodded in agreement, lowering his gaze. "That's really keen of you. I dunno what's going to happen, but I know I'm going to want to keep in touch with everyone I fought and worked alongside through all this. Whether I end up working inside Dispatch or elsewhere, I'm never going to forget you all."

Embarrassed by his own effusive sentiment, Alex cleared his throat and looked away. "So, what days and times did you want to set up for sparring, then?"

Ron shrugged, "You are busier than me with your computer stuff. Fit me in when you think you can spare it. Your work is pretty important to our cause after all."

Alex checked the time with a sigh. "Well, right now definitely isn't up for grabs. I've got to get together with Fabian to work out a good plan of attack and get the schematic with the routes uploaded to everyone's phones. Maybe after the raid on Copenhagen Dispatch I'll have more time to spare. I'll let you know if I get some time between now and then, though."

Fabian had politely walked a distance away to give them a moment of privacy, but now he was walking back. "Alexander, are you ready? The sooner we do this, the better."

Alex nodded and he gave Ronald an apologetic shrug. "Well, duty calls. Guess I'd better grab an energy drink and buckle down. I should have those schematics uploaded for everyone by tomorrow sometime."

"You imbibe in those 'energy drinks' too often," cautioned Fabian, flaxen brows knitting over his rectangular framed glasses. "It can't be good for you."

"Well, _something's_ got to give me a boost when I'm feeling worn down," argued the hacker. "He waved it away and spoke to Ronald. "See ya later, Ron. I'll let you know if anything changes on my schedule before the raid."

"Yeah, sure." Ronald nodded and turned to go on his way, but then he paused and looked back. "Make sure to eat and get proper rest," he added, knowing that Fabian likely would back it up with his insistence.

Just as Ronald suspected, Fabian nodded and he gave Alexander a stern look. "I'll see to it he does. Good afternoon, agent Knox."

The couple left together, just as Eric came down the hallway from the other direction. The Scot held his son comfortably against his chest, bouncing him gently as he approached in search of his spouse. "Oi, Ronnie...is Alan still in there or did he leave already?"

He covertly looked the younger reaper over, not wanting to openly ask how he was doing but concerned nonetheless. Ronald seemed to be doing much better these days but Eric knew him well enough to tell that half of it was just a front to keep others from babying him.

"Uh, I'm not sure. I think I saw him go up to Pops for something right after the meeting but I wasn't really paying attention to him."

Matthew took his hand out of his mouth and stretched it to Ronald, grinning when Ronald let him wrap his wet fingers around his pinky.

"Hey, Matty, did your daddy get you all cleaned up? Was it a big stinky? Yeah? Good boy!"

"Wasn't too bad," Eric assured with a grin. "It was stinkier than it was messy. Guess tha smell o' his own shite offended him an'...och...hey Alan. There ya are."

Eric flushed as his partner stepped out of the boardroom with a disapproving look on his face and the Scot realized it was because he'd cussed in front of their child. Eric tactfully tried to excuse himself. "He dun' know a curse from a giggle yet, sweetheart, an' most English cannae even tell when I curse anyhow. Takes some time tae get used tae censoring mah words an'...an'...yer still lookin' at me tha' way..."

"Children are sponges, Eric," Alan scolded, crossing his arms. "He'll know your accent just as well as mine, and so don't you even try to use your accent as an excuse to keep your potty-mouth! If you don't break the habit now, he will pick up on it when he starts talking, himself." He brought up a hand to point at Eric's face with the scowl of an unhappy mother. "If you can't do it yourself I'll help you with use of a bar of soap!"

Eric visibly flinched and grimaced, reminded of having his mouth washed out with soap by his own mother. "Sorry Al. I'm still learning tae curb it. I'll try tae do better...I'll even tape mah mouth shut around Matt if it comes tae it."

His cheeks were pink with an uncommon blush as he tried to pacify his husband, and he glanced at Ronald with embarrassment. He nearly warned him not to start a family of his own with William because he could just imagine how much worse Spears would be about such things, but then the harsh reminder that Will was gone from their lives hit him like a fist in the gut and he clamped his mouth shut before stupidly blurting his thoughts.

"You had better." Alan said before softening his tone and smiled at their son. "Hey sweetie." He pressed a kiss to the baby's cheek.

Ronald was trying to hold in his laughter, but it was beginning to slip out, "Tough luck!" he burst out, "You look like a puppy that got caught chewing up the couch!"

"Oi, quiet you," Eric groused, unable to stop the flush in his cheeks. "I'd like tae see how _yeh_ stand up tae Alan's wrath, kid. Ya haven't seen tha half of it!"

He was smiling though, and he cast a roughish wink at his spouse. "Maybe I can make it up tae ya later tonight, lover." He purred the last, giving Alan a suggestive but pointed leer.

"Only if you can keep your speech clean for the rest of the day!" Alan insisted. "I don't reward bad behavior."

Ronald shrugged with a chuckle, "Sorry, Slingby, every time I see you two together I see a lion bowing to a bunny." He turned to go, "Hey, I'll see ya later. I'm going to try and find something useful to do."

Eric nodded at Ronald and then he turned and sighed, giving his spouse a dry smirk. His attempt to charm Alan out of scolding him had failed—which meant the small brunet was onto his tricks. Usually all it took for him to fluster Alan was a wink and a subtle suggestion, but Humphries was onto his game.

"Ye've gotten tae know all my methods. Feels like I'm at a disadvantage now. How am I tae get outta trouble wi' ya now?"

"By not getting into trouble to begin with," Alan suggested. He leaned in to kiss Eric's cheek and whisper into his ear, "I have always known your little tricks, Eric, and they do still work. I can't resist you. But when our baby boy is involved I can't just let you have your way with me over a charming smile and a wink."

Eric shivered subtly at the brief contact and he shifted Matthew in his arms as the baby gurgled. He leaned in towards his lover and he chose to give as well as he got. He spoke in a low purr for Alan's ears alone. "Maybe ya could have yer way wi' _me_ later on then, sweetheart. I'll let yeh bind me like a wild thing an' we'll see if yeh can tame me."

He followed up with a kiss to Alan's neck just under his ear, and he spared a moment to nibble the smaller man's lobe before pulling back.

It worked. Alan's face burned a bright red and his knees weakened as his breath caught in his throat.

"E-Eric..." he finally choked out.

Eric resisted the urge to chuckle at his husband's reaction, and he felt a little less like a scolded dog. He'd have put his arms around him if they weren't occupied holding the baby, but he had to settle for suggestive undertones.

"Like tha' idea, do ya? Yeh know yer tha only one tha' could tame this 'lion', don't ya? Dun' be too afraid tae play around wi' me, lover."

Matthew grabbed hold of a lock of Eric's hair while he was shamelessly flirting with Alan to see just how hard he could make him blush, and the Scot was reminded that he had a baby in his arms that needed feeding soon. He glanced down at the infant and he made a silly face at him.

"Aye, Da knows it's about time fer ano'er feeding, kiddo. We'll take care of tha' now, in fact."

He gave Alan another wink. "I'll get his lunch ready, Al. Think on wha' I said."

"You are ridiculous, Eric..." Alan muttered, unable to calm the red of his cheeks as he walked beside his husband and son. "I don't know how you always do this to me..."

"Seems I've go' a talent fer it," chuckled Eric. He bounced Matthew and shushed him as the infant began to fuss. "My tongue's good fer o'er things too, though." He couldn't resist smirking flirtatiously at the smaller reaper as they made their way to their office.

"That isn't helping." Alan whispered, imagining all too vividly the way Eric's tongue caressed his bare skin when they were alone in bed together. Following that memory was how Eric's hands felt running over his body, his breath against his neck, his lips pressing to his shoulder, and his sex filling him...

"Definitely not helping!" he gasped, turning his head away, feeling like he needed a nice cold shower.

Eric was getting into a rather uncomfortable state too. He shifted a little to try and ease the growing pressure in his pants, but he was unable to physically adjust himself due to the baby he was holding. "No' helping mahself much either," he muttered. Grinning sidelong at his spouse, he leaned over to give him a quick nibble on the ear. "Maybe ya could do something in tha' department once we reach the office, though. I'm starting tae ache fer ya, lover."

"You are always 'aching' for me." Alan pointed out, glancing around to make sure no one else could see him before he adjusted his pants around his tenting problem.

"Mm, a little lower," suggested Eric with a roguish smirk. "Ya know Al, I could wear ma kilt for ya if yeh want."

Eric offered the incentive because he'd discovered his partner had a weakness for the Scottish garment after finding his old one still in his office closet and trying it on. At least, Alan had a weakness for _him_ in a kilt. The younger reaper had walked in with Matthew as Eric was checking to see if the kilt still fit right and for a moment he'd seemed like he might almost drop the baby. Eric had quickly taken Matthew from him and he's been about to ask if he was feeling all right, but then he'd noticed the blush on Alan's cheeks and the tent in the crotch of his pants. He hadn't used his discovery to his advantage yet, but he was feeling so randy he thought now might be a good time.

Alan finished adjusting himself, but didn't trust himself to look up at his husband. The man was too sexy for his own good-and he knew it. The poor brunet only wanted to jump his bones at that moment with the mere suggestion of the Scot donning his traditional garb of his homeland. It confirmed his suspicion that Eric had seen through him the day he'd first saw the man in a kilt.

Luckily, Matthew came to his mother's rescue by letting out a loud noise to remind his parents that he was in need of his bottle, his little hands waving and smacking against his father's chest lightly as he wiggled and protested the lack of his meal.

"Aye, little one...Daddy knows yeh want dinner. Guess this conversation can wait."

With a pointed smirk at Alan's crotch, Eric continued walking to their office. They'd taken one of the spare microwaves from one of the break rooms so that they could prepare and heat Matthew's bottles in the privacy of their office, and Eric was quick to hand the baby over to Alan once they were inside so he could do just that.

"Jus' a minute, kid," advised Eric—even though he knew his son wasn't old enough to comprehend his words yet. He opened the box of formula and he took a package out to mix it with some water from the sink in the bathroom. As he prepared the bottle he talked to Alan.

"I was thinkin' we could get some candles an' have a nice candlelight dinner t'night. Ya know...clear off mah desk and eat at it. Oh an' I've go' some good news: none of our stuff was sold off or anything by tha landlords while we were away. I checked wi' both places while you were at tha meeting an' they said they both jus' locked up our apartments when they heard wha' was going on, since we still had a rental contract active. Good thing I checked wi' yers too, 'cause he was about ready to presume ya were dead and clear out yers."

Eric came back out of the little office bathroom, shaking the bottle in his hand to mix the formula. He smiled at his spouse. "Isn't tha' great? Only thing is they both changed tha locks an' they won't let us back in 'till we can pay back-rent, but everything's still there. No' my car of course...I guess she's gone fer good. Still better than starting over wi' nothing at all, aye?"

"Gahh!" Matt spotted the bottle and tried reaching for it, though it hadn't been heated yet.

"Shh, just a moment more, little one," Alan cooed, kissing his temple, "It'll be nice being able to go home." Alan sighed. He looked up at Eric with a smile, "But we don't need two apartments and neither one is large enough for raising a family. We'll have to find a new place to call home-together."

The brunet smiled at the thought, imagining the two of them taking their son home for the first time. "Maybe we can get something with a proper garden where Matthew and his future siblings can play in the fresh air..."

"Tha countryside somewhere," agreed Eric. "Either here or in Scotland. Come tae think of it, I miss Scotland. If we dun' end up living there, I'd at least like tae visit fer a while after all this gets sorted out."

The bottle finished heating and he removed it from the microwave. Testing the temperature on his wrist first, he carried it over to Alan and he gave it to the baby. "There yeh are, son. Eat up. Yummy!"

As Matthew began to hungrily suck on the bottle, Eric's gaze met Alan's. He smiled at him. "So how 'bout my idea of a candlelit dinner? We cannae really cook a gourmet meal but we might be able tae get some takeout...if any place'll deliver tae this building now."

A romantic dinner might just set the mood, and Eric already planned to wear his traditional Scottish garb for Alan.

"A candlelit dinner would be lovely, but where would we find candles here in Dispatch?" the brunet looked up from watching their son drink. "I don't doubt we can order out. We have been accepting supply deliveries since we took back the building. It just has to go through screening to make sure nothing was slipped into it that could compromise security. I've worked in the screening room a few times since coming here and others have had food delivered without a problem."

"Hmm." Eric thought about it. "I could go an' buy some candles. There's a shop right around tha corner and it'd only take me a few minutes tae get there on foot. Haven't seen any enemy activity in this area fer a good while, so it ought tae be safe enough."

Alan bit his lower lip, "I'd like you to not go alone," he admitted, "just in case. You are one of the more well known members of our group, after all."

"Wha' if Sutcliff goes wi' me?" suggested Eric. "He likes candles an' girly things. Ah wait...I might no' ever get him outta there. He's a notorious shopper. Maybe Ron, then? Och...no. Telling him I'm buying candles fer a romantic dinner would be like rubbing it in his face. I'll jus' pick out one o' tha other reapers on mah team, then. Would tha' make ya feel better?"

"As long as you aren't alone." Alan nodded, "If you want, I can go with you and we can have Grell or someone watch Matt." he suggested.

"Tha's no' a bad idea," agreed Eric. "Ya might enjoy getting out fer a little while too, an' yeh can help me pick tha candles. I'm sure Grell an' Undertaker won't mind watching Matt fer a little while." Eric looked down at the baby, who was half-finished with his bottle. "Would ya like that, lad? Spend a little time wi' yer uncles?"

Matthew's eyes moved over to look at Eric and then he smiled around the nipple in his mouth, stretching his entire body.

"I think we can take that as a yes." Alan chuckled.

Eric bent over to kiss the child on the head and then he gave his spouse a kiss on the lips. "Then I'll set up his diaper an' formula bag an' we can take him down tha hall tae Grell's office an' see if they'll mind."

He was all too eager to pick up the items and enjoy a relaxing, intimate evening with Alan. Of course they couldn't ask them to watch Matthew all night, but he really was a good kid and they didn't often have to interrupt their moments together to see to him once he went down for the night.

The brunet hummed and smiled, "You do that," he approved. Matthew would be finished eating soon, and after burping him, they'd be free to go out on their quick errand.

* * *

An hour or so later, the couple was enjoying Greek takeout on Eric's desk with votive candles lit on either side of it and a glass of white wine each. Eric spooned up some of the moussaka from one of the containers and he transferred it to his plate before getting some ziti. He smiled at his spouse as he picked up his lamb gyro and taking a bite of it.

"Mm," he mumbled as he chewed and swallowed. "Reminds me o' our time in Athens. I'd like tae go back there some day an stay there fer a week or so. Ne'er thought I'd like Greek food so much."

He had the baby's bassinet stationed close to the desk and he rocked it with his foot now and then to help coax their son to sleep.

"We will have to take a proper honeymoon when we get the chance," Alan agreed once he swallowed his bite and politely dabbed a dribble of sauce from his lip with his napkin. "We could go back then."

Eric raised his wine glass to that. "I'm all fer tha'. Maybe we could even stay at tha place we were living before we had tae move out. I liked tha ocean view. Let's mark it down on tha 'tae do' list soon as we pay up our rent an' all this mess is settled, lover."

He smiled at Alan as they clinked their glasses together and he rubbed his foot playfully against Alan's beneath the desk. He was wearing his Highland outfit as promised—and he didn't have a thing on under the kilt. He _was_ wearing lace-up boots on his feet and calves but aside from that there was only the kilt and his long-sleeved lace-up shirt. Perhaps it was strange for him to be dressed like this while eating Greek food, but he knew his spouse loved the look on him.

Alan was sitting next to him in one of his work suits. He didn't have the options Eric had as most of the clothes he'd gotten while they were in hiding were maternity and now no longer fit him. He'd forgone the jacket and stuck simply to a dress shirt and vest with his slacks. He'd also chosen a normal black tie rather than his usual bolo he was quite fond of.

"We have quite the to-do list to take care of once this little dispatch war is over." he chuckled, "At the very least I need to get a new career going for myself before we take our honeymoon."

Eric sobered at that and he looked at him as he forked up some of the ziti. "Are ya really serious about quitting Dispatch? I understand why an' all, but I dun' want yeh tae end up unhappy."

"I just can't trust myself, Eric." Alan sighed, "I love being a Dispatch Officer, but...the job is too hazardous for me. I got addicted to something that gave me a deadly illness that until recently was incurable-and even now the cure is a huge risk. I can't be tempted by it any longer, not when I have you and Matthew. I have thought about this a lot and being here for my family is more important than working Dispatch."

Eric nodded, again understanding but saddened by the loss. "I'm going tae miss having yeh at mah side. Ya were honestly tha best partner I've ever had, Alan. In work an' in love. At least I get tae keep ya in love, though."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could stay your work partner, as well, but... It's just better this way." Alan reached over and placed his hand on Eric's knee, "And you always have me waiting for you at home."

"Aye, that I will." Eric forked up some of the moussaka and he blew on it to cool it. He laid his free hand over the one Alan had placed on his knee. "Have ya thought about asking fer a position in bookkeeping or somethin'? Yer good at paperwork an' filing an' ya wouldnae have tae handle cinematic records. Ya'd still be working in tha same building or close by, so it'd be something familiar to ya." He put the fork-full of food into his mouth and chewed appreciatively as he waited for his husband's answer.

"Actually," Alan's cheeks flushed a tint of pink, "I was thinking of doing something altogether different. Say... become a nurse. It'd mean going back to school, but...Nursing had always been something I was interested in. Working Dispatch was my dream, as it is every young reaper's dream, but I had always thought that if I couldn't make it into the collections program at the academy, that I'd try for the medical field."

He met Eric's gaze, "You wouldn't mind that, would you? Having your husband go back to the academy?"

He already had some experience with tending to wounds, cleaning them and stitching them. He doubted he'd have a problem with doing it every day.

"Besides, then if you get a bit careless you'll know who to come to get patched up." he offered a smile.

Eric smiled back at him and he took a sip of wine to wash down his food before answering. "Alan, I'm gonna support ya no matter wha' ya decide ya want tae do." He squeezed his hand gently and he gazed into his eyes. If ya find nursing's yer new passion, then tha's fine by me. I think ya'd be good at it. Ye've a verra gentle touch."

Eric caught up Alan's hand and he lifted it to his lips, kissing the top of it. "All I want is for yeh tae be happy an' content, sweetheart."

"I had hoped you'd feel that way about this." The brunet smiled, flexing his fingers as Eric kissed his hand so that he could feel the man's beard. "I know it'll be hard having to find and get used to a new partner, but I know we can do this. Plus, if you want to return to your homeland...it'd be easier for us to move there. You can get a transfer back easy. If I were still your partner we'd likely end up apart for a while until my transfer is approved. I could better get my new start as a nurse both here in England or there in Scotland easily."

Eric nodded and released Alan's hand so that he could pick up his gyro again for another bite. It occurred to him that he might have ordered a bit too much for just the two of them, but they could always place the leftovers in the break room fridge for later or to share with others. He tried his best not to make a mess and he grinned at Alan when he saw the smaller reaper accidentally slop on his pant leg after taking a bite of the same. He also had a small glob of tzatziki on his lower lip, which Eric decided to kiss off for him after swallowing his own bite.

"Mm, tasty," he murmured. He reached for a napkin and he dabbed up the bit on Alan's thigh with it. "Ya go' a little there, too."

Alan felt almost mortified at the mess he'd made of himself and he quickly dipped a napkin in a glass of water to further clean the mess on his pants before it stained.

"Shush-this didn't happen!" he tried.

Eric started to laugh in spite of himself. "People slop, lover. Ah, yer blushing! Dun' be embarrassed..."

He tried very hard not to snicker as he tried to help Alan clean up the mess. "Yer so cute, Al. It willnae stain...jus' calm down."

"If baby spit-up can stain a suit, then so can this!" Alan insisted, "And I don't 'slop'. I'm a gentleman."

Eric resisted another laugh, not wanting to spoil things by making Alan feel picked on. He was after all a very clean person and he'd always taken care with his appearance. Rather than display his amusement over his husband's distress, he offered advice. "Ya could always take 'em off an' soak 'em if yer tha' worried. I wouldnae be offended by 'pantless Alan', ya know."

Eric winked playfully at him.

"A gentleman never attends dinner without his slacks." Alan said simply, though he got up and went to a better lit area of the office to check the spot on his pant leg. "...Well, unless they are from Scotland and they prefer supporting their traditional kilt over slacks..." he added with a flush to his cheeks.

Finding he'd cleaned the dribble as best he could without taking them off and sending them to the cleaners, the brunet returned to his seat, this time laying his napkin in his lap as a lady would to protect her skirts.

Eric was struggling not to laugh again. Gods, he loved this reaper. He chose to stuff his face to avoid snickering and he watched Alan sidelong, admiring the way the candlelight flickered on his attractive, almost delicate features. He rocked Matthew's bassinet again with his foot and he glanced down to be sure the baby was sound asleep.

"Mm, I jus' go' a glob of tha tzatziki in tha' bite," he announced after chewing and swallowing his last bite of his gyro. "Good stuff."

"And you didn't dribble it." Alan observed as he returned to what was left of his meal, soon letting out a happy sigh and glancing back up at Eric, "However, slacks are optional for possible activities after dinner."

Eric nearly choked on his food in response to that softly uttered statement. It really didn't take much for Alan to distract him and his body immediately started to react. He finished off his gyro and he had another sip of wine. "Then here's tae ending the night wi'out pants, then."

The brunet let slip a smug smile, inwardly laughing at his husband's eager and favorable reaction. He soon covered the expression, however, by taking a sip of his own glass of wine.

Really, it was Eric's fault for getting him in the mood. The kilt was too much to pass up, and he was curious how his Scotsman would perform in it.

* * *

-To be continued


	30. Chapter 30

The day of the scheduled raid on Copenhagen Dispatch approached, and it took some effort to first teleport the Undertaker's doll minions to Denmark, then the fighting teams. Those with family they were leaving behind said their goodbyes first, and Eric made it a point to stick close to Ronald. It wasn't that the Scotsman didn't trust his young friend to handle himself in battle; it was simply that he wasn't willing to risk losing him like they'd lost William.

As they lined up to follow the dolls through the portal leading into Copenhagen Dispatch, Eric glanced at his friend sidelong. "Sure yer ready fer this, Ronnie?"

"How will I ever move on and get better if I don't at least try?" Ronald shrugged, closing his eyes, "Just-do me a favor and don't aim for anyone's head..."

He reached down to his belt, touching he gun in his holster. He hated feeling useless. And he wasn't much help staying behind. He wasn't a computer wiz, he was confused by the communications base they had set up...and he couldn't even cook to help feed everyone. He was a dispatch officer. He collected the souls of dead humans and fought off demons. Fighting to take back the Dispatch he knew was all he could do.

Eric sympathized with him and for Ronald's sake, he decided to make it a point to strike to wound rather than kill. Fabian, however, wasn't likely to do the same. Eric could see by the Dane's obvious tension that he was ready to take the heads of his enemies, whether they attempted to surrender or not. Fortunately he was in Anderson's team rather than the Undertaker's, so Ronald might not have to see him in action. Anderson's team was to strike the upper levels while the Undertaker's team went in behind the bizarre dolls to clean up the lower levels.

"All right folks, this is it," Undertaker announced up ahead when the last of the dolls went through. "Keep your wits about you and try not to get shot!"

He took up the lead with Grell close behind him, and the rest of his team rushed through the portal afterwards. Beside them, Lawrence led his team through a different portal. As soon as Eric made it to the other side a bullet whizzed over his head and he hit the floor, dragging Ronald down with him. It took him a moment to determine that it was a wild shot fired by one of the Revivalists near the lifts. The man went down with two dolls on him and his gun went flying out of his grip. Eric took aim with his jaw clenched, glancing at Ronnie.

"Look away, kid. This is a mercy shot."

With that said, Eric aimed for the hapless agent's head and he fired one shot to put him out of his misery. It was a better way to die than being eaten alive. Other enemy agents were trying to make it out of the lobby upon seeing the gruesome army arrive, doubtless having heard tales of what happened when the other branches got taken back.

"Shit! Already, Eric?" Ronald hid his face in Eric's side just as he heard the Scot's gun go off. "Chest shots are just as effective!" He lifted his head and spotted a Revivalist charging the two of them who lay on the floor. He didn't seem to have a gun scythe, so he was raising his normal scythe to reap them traditionally.

Thinking fast, Ron grabbed his own gun and took aim. Two bangs rang out and bullets took out the reaper's knees, sending him to the floor.

"Good shots, lad," complimented Eric. He got to his feet and helped Ronald up. "Sorry about tha' shot I had tae take. His head was all I could see of him when tha dolls took him down or I'd have aimed fer his heart."

Toward the staircase leading up from the main lobby, the Undertaker was reaping two targets with his traditional scythe. Grell had splattered the floor around them with blood and one of their teammates slipped on it when she moved to join the two of them. She caught herself on the railing before she could go down and she hollered to the rest of the team to move.

Eric nodded toward the staircase. "Looks like we're about to start heading up. Better no' get left behind."

Undertaker whistled to his team and he waited until he saw them all moving to join him and Grell before taking the stairs up.

"Already? We just got here." Ronald blinked, looking arund. The dolls seemed to have the ground floor covered. "Man, I guess so..."

Nodding, he made his way along with Eric.

"You doing okay, Ronnie?" Grell called out.

Ron flushed, "I'm not exactly a kid! I can do this just fine!" he insisted.

"We're all jus' trying tae look out fer ya, Ronnie," excused Eric. "Yer no' a kid but you're still tha youngest."

Not to mention he'd suffered post traumatic stress, and Grell did look at Ron as a younger brother. Eric didn't see the point in mentioning the obvious though, and the last thing he wanted Ronald to do was get distracted by thoughts of Will's death—anymore than could be helped, at least.

They followed the team up to the next level and one of their members went down when a hail of bullets rained down from above. It seemed the enemy had gathered in wait for them on the second floor. Undertaker cursed and deflected one that surely would have hit him in the shoulder if he hadn't noticed it fast enough. Eric quickly moved to drag their fallen comrade out of the line of fire, yelling for Ronald to get down and help him. Shots were fired back as the Undertaker's team retaliated and sought cover. The enemy reapers were shooting from the floor above, giving them the advantage of higher ground and greater cover.

Dispatch reapers called out to each other as their team was forced to split up and seek whatever cover they could. Eric had dragged the bleeding reaper back toward the stairs to get out of the sight of the enemy, and as Ronald joined him, he started putting pressure on the injury. He saw Lance Chesterfield take a hit and go down with a cry of pain, and he realized they stood the very real risk of getting overwhelmed.

"Shite...this isnae good," gasped the Scotsman as the officer he was trying to assist started going into shock. "Undertaker! Grell! We've go' tae move!"

"Love to," hollered the mortician back, "but we've been a bit blindsided, mate!"

Ronald took aim and with a series of shots, he emptied it of scythe bullets, each one making it's mark and causing his targets to fall, their records streaming up into the air.

"Shit, cover me!" he cried out as he pulled back to reload. He flinched. He hated seeing the records being released, but he hadn't aimed to kill. Each of his targets had the chance to survive.

"I have the feeling they were expecting us." Grell growled, grabbing his own gun. He hated using it but he couldn't get close enough to use his chainsaw. His shot wasn't as impressive as Ronald's and he only took down half of what he'd hoped to take out. And one of those had only been wounded with a scrape of the bullet.

"Stupid things." The redhead hissed as he also pulled back to reload. "If I meet the idiot who thought this was a good idea, I'll reap him! Guns should stay a mortal weapon."

"Grell! Look out!" Ronald launched himself at the redhead.

The blond had looked up and had half emptied his gun again when he saw a bullet whizzing straight for his mentor's turned back. In a moment of panic, he made his move. He couldn't lose anyone else. Not Grell, not Eric-losing William was painful enough. He didn't think he could handle any more loss.

His body knocked into Grell's and pushed him out of the path of the bullet. unfortunately, he felt the hot sting of that same scythe-tipped piece of metal sink into his side right above his hip. A cry of pain ripped from his lips and as he landed on Grell, his vision blurred for a second. He lifted his gun and shot it to take out more revivalists.

The pain faded as he ran on adrenaline, and he was unaware of his own leaking records.

"RONNIE!" Grell gasped, grabbing his shoulders, "No-stop moving!"

Eric cursed and started to go to him, but the reaper he was trying to assist groaned, reminding him he had another injured party to care for. Additionally, there were too many bullets flying around and he'd likely just get himself shot trying to cross the distance without cover. Grell had assisted Ronald and gotten him behind the fountain where the Undertaker was taking cover.

The mortician turned to see his lover dragging the injured blond and he glanced around grimly. They were being overrun. His phone buzzed and he brought it to his ear to get confirmation from Jeffries.

"You'd best get out of there," warned the hacker. "I've still got control of their security cameras and I'm seeing portals forming on the fourth floor! You'll be outnumbered!"

"Already are, chap," said the Undertaker. He went to Ronald's side to assess how bad it was. It appeared the young man ironically took the hit in nearly the same place his Scotsman friend had when he got shot—but on the opposite side. "Alex, tell Anderson we're on the second floor and we could use a bit of help."

"Okay, sir! Hang in there!"

Undertaker put the phone back into his pocket and he opened the medical pack around his waist, kneeling down to see to Ronald. The bullet was lodged in him and would have to come out, but this was no place to try doing that.

"Think we're going t' have to retreat, love," he informed Grell reluctantly as he cut the back of Ronald's shirt open so that he could bandage the wound.

His phone buzzed again and he picked it up, holding the gauze down against Ronald's injury with his free hand. "Tell me something good, lad."

"Sorry Mr. Undertaker, but it's not good," Alex's voice said on the other line. "Father Anderson's teams in a spot too, and there's a whole other group of enemy reapers standing between them and you. He said he's going to have his team try to teleport directly down to you guys and close up the portal as soon as the last agent's through."

Undertaker sighed. "We're going to be getting out of this by the skin of our teeth, with all these poppers going off. Just keep us updated if more enemies come down to level three, yeah? Tell Anderson to concentrate on getting his team out of here to a _different_ area from where we first arrived in Denmark. I'll take care of my team."

"Will do. Please be careful and get out of there as fast as you can!"

The mortician put the phone away and he considered their predicament as he finished bandaging Ronnie. "Easy lad...stay still." He then spoke to Grell. "Only way we're likely to get out of here is to portal out to a different location from where we arrived. I don't want to take the chance they somehow worked out how to trace our portals and have an ambush waiting there for us. Problem is, we've got to get everyone _through_ that portal and we're scattered about. Unless we can get someone up there to where they're shooting at us, most of our folks'll get reaped before they can make it across the floor to us."

He sucked on his teeth in frustration. Even if he took a handful with him through a portal up to the third floor, they wouldn't get to the enemy in time before they took some hits.

Unless...

The Undertaker began to grin. "I may have a plan."

"A plan? Of what sort?" Grell asked, pulling Ronald in against his chest like a mother trying to keep her unruly child from going off and causing trouble. "Shh, Ronnie, stop moving. You'll only hurt yourself more."

"I feel fine! I can fight!"

"That's your adrenaline talking. Stay still!"

"Listen to Grell, chap," advised the Undertaker.

He then took a moment to concentrate, sending out a mental command to his remaining dollies. They could take plenty of shots as long as they missed their heads. The dolls came running up the stairs from the lobby, their shuffling gate appearing disjointed yet swift. They parted around Eric and the reaper he was trying to assist and they went straight for the stairs leading up to the next level. Fearless and single-minded, they rushed the enemy reapers and kept them too occupied to continue firing down on the Dispatch team.

A moment later, a portal appeared and Lawrence's team came out of it, some of them carrying their wounded while others covered them. Lawrence came out last and he was limping from a cut in his leg, but otherwise he appeared all right. The Undertaker wasted no time. He summoned another portal and he whistled out to his companions.

"Hurry it up, folks," urged the mortician. "Get the wounded through first. Everyone not caring for the injured ought to provide cover."

Undertaker looked at Grell and Ronald and he gave the redhead a quick kiss on the mouth. "Take him through with the others, love. We'll hold 'em back."

"You better not get shot!" Grell agreed, gathering Ronald into his arms. "I'll get this noble idiot to the infirmary. Ronnie's so grounded after this!"

"You can't-ground me for saving your life, senpai."

"Watch me!" Grell stood up and waited for another reaper who was carrying an injured comrade through the portal to disappear before following. Eric followed, having slung the officer he'd been assisting over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Lance came behind him, limping his way through the portal.

"Anderson, you might want to go on through with them," suggested the Undertaker with a glance at his friend's leg.

Lawrence shook his head. "I shall remain with you. It isn't serious and we need to be sure these young ones make it through."

Undertaker didn't argue with that. He heard a wild yell from up above and he looked up at the third level to see Fabian Olson throw an enemy reaper over the side of the railing. His mouth fell open. "What in buggary blazes is he _doing_?"

Lawrence sighed. "Taking out his aggression. Damn it, we cannot afford to wait for him to vent! Everyone not covering our egress needs to be going into the portal."

"Well, you _did_ say to cover us," reminded the Undertaker with a little smirk. Olson was using his fists and his traditional scythe to do so, however. He must have run out of bullets. "Stay here and keep an eye on the portal, chap. I'll fetch him."

With that said, the ancient bounded up the stairs and came up behind Fabian. "Easy mate," he advised, hopping back and sucking in his gut to avoid getting sliced open when the Dane immediately whirled on him with his scythe. "Time to get going."

Fabian's face was covered in blood and he had a wild look in his eyes. "I won't let them have it."

It took the mortician a moment to understand what he meant. Of course...Copenhagen was Fabian's home Dispatch, and he'd been wanting to liberate it for a long while. "They won't keep it forever," promised the Undertaker, "but for now, we'd best be going. Come on, lad...you don't want to end up like William Spears, do you? Think of your li'l hacker friend waiting for you in London."

Some of the blind anger faded from Olson's eyes and he heaved a sigh, looking around at the interior of his home headquarters. He finally blurted a string of curses in Danish and agreed to come with the ancient. The two of them hopped over the railing to join the others on the floor below.

A hail of bullets followed them as they fell to the second floor with the rest of their fighters.

"This isn't worth all this!" One of their new recruits shouted, fishing into his pockets as he blew his long, chin-length purple and black hair out of his face. "I'm doing it!" He pulled what looked to be a grenade from his pocket and pulled the pin.

"Everyone get down!" he shouted before launching it up to the third floor. A second later there was an explosion, sending rubble and parts of reapers raining down upon them.

"Holy shit, Dyane!" his partner cursed.

"What? It worked, didn't it? Gave us time to get out safely." he pointed at the portal with a grin, "The big boss man said cover us, I covered us."

"Well done," grunted the Undertaker. "Now get through the portal, both of you. We'll be right behind."

He ushered the younger reapers before him and he practically flung Olson through before taking Lawrence's arm. They were the last two and the enemy was recovering from the explosion. "Ready old chap?"

"It is now or never," agreed Lawrence.

Together, the two ancients dove through after their companions and the Undertaker immediately closed the portal behind them when they came through on the Danish countryside. Lawrence wasted no time and he began to form yet another portal; this one more directed. Undertaker helped him, as this one required the aid of more than one reaper to travel such a distance.

"Anyone that can spare the energy t' help open the London portal back to our headquarters best join in," called the mortician. He didn't think the Revivalists could trace them, but after what had just happened he wasn't willing to wait around and find out.

"Ronnie, you're trying to help isn't helping! If you keep this up I'm going to tie you down to the infirmary bed when I get you there!" Grell scolded Ronald when Ronald moved to volunteer to help along with the others who did so. "You are going to be in so much pain when your body remembers you have a scythe bullet in you."

"It's not that bad!"

"Poppycock!" Grell swatted him on the back of the head. "Now lay still and moan in pain like a proper injured boy!

"Now, now," admonished the Undertaker with a grin. "That's no way to treat an injured lad." He was fighting laughter at Grell's last comment even as he worked with Anderson and a couple of others to finish creating the portal. Eric joined in as well.

"Ronnie, you'll make yerself worse trying tae do this," scolded the Scotsman. "Jus' take it easy 'till we can finish and get everyone through!"

"He's my injured lad, and he's only injured because he pushed me out of the way. I'm responcible for him until we get to safety where he can be looked at." Grell huffed.

"If i relax it'll start hurting. If I keep moving-"

"If you keep moving, Ronald Knox, that bullet will move around and cause more damage to your body and soul! Now behave!" Grell snapped. "Listen to big sis and-Unnie? Hows that portal doing? Ronnie's bandages aren't holding. He's bleeding too much!" He said, noticing the amount of blood soaking through the layers of bandages Undertaker had put on the young blond.

The Undertaker sobered at that news. He glanced at Ronald and Grell and he muttered a curse under his breath. "Anderson, can you hold this with the help of the others?"

Lawrence nodded grimly. "I shall keep it stable. See to the boy, Undertaker."

Without another word, the mortician reached into his medical pack, grabbed a syrette and promptly walked over to Ronald. "Sorry chap, but it's for your own good," he muttered before tugging the cap off and jabbing Ronald in the thigh with it.

"What-ak!" Ronald flinched painfully as the needle sank into his skin. "Son of a dick..." his protests soon trailed off as the injected sedative rushed through his pumping veins and started to calm him, his heart slowing down-and allowing the pain of his wound to finally register in his mind.

"There, good boy, I have you, don't worry." Grell cooed, pressing a chaste but caring kiss to his forehead.

Undertaker quickly took the opportunity to add his energy to the portal again once he was sure Grell had care of Ronald. Anderson was rapidly tiring and his pants were getting soaked with blood. "You lied to me, Methuselah," he snarked once he was beside his old friend. He nodded meaningfully at Lawrence's leg. "That's worse than a scratch. Get your hide through the portal with the injured or else I'll have to give you a dose of it too."

Lawrence maintained a dignified expression on his lined face. "Once the worst of the injured are through, I shall retreat. Not before then."

The Undertaker sighed, but he could relate. "You're living up to your title as 'Father' Anderson, you ol' blighter."

Lawrence smirked, but he held his concentration. "The portal is ready! Bring the wounded in first and the rest of you follow immediately behind. Those maintaining the portal shall go together, and release the hold on it the moment we are all through."

"Ronnie's behaving much better now that he's on drugs." Grell observed, scooping him up once more to be one of the first through to the other side. "I hope you guys opened the portal near the infirmary!"

Luckily, once he got to the other side, he found that they were on the correct floor, and he joined the rush to the medical department.

The small infirmary was quickly overrun. It was designed to take care of emergencies and small paper cuts. They weren't a full hospital. Alan was at the door, directing everything as their small medical team hurried around.

"If you have a minor injury that can wait, stay here in the hall! If you are more serious come into the waiting room and Miss Coleson will determine how bad you are and ask you to wait there or take you back into the examination rooms immediately!" The brunet was saying, inwardly hoping that he wouldn't see Eric being dragged in. He didn't know what had happened, but it didn't look good.

"Sir, please sit back down. It's only a scratch and once all injured parties are sorted I'll be out here to take care of you and the others," he said when one reaper tried sneaking past him.

"I'm pretty Sure Ronnie's more than a hallway fix!" Grell panted, "Unnie had to drug him to make him stop making things worse-he got himself shot and the thing is still in him!"

Alan nodded him on by, frowning in worry, "Have you seen..?"

"Eric? he's fine. Should be here soon. I think he's carrying someone in." Grell answered as he passed by and lay Ronald down. "Shh, I know... it hurts," he soothed the blond, brushing his sweat soaked blond bangs off his damp forehead.

Jenna hurried down the hall with a clipboard in her hands, with two assistant medics following her wheeling a stretcher. She looked at Ronald and she nodded at him, and they lowered it to carefully ease him onto it. "Have someone bring another stretcher out once you've transported Agent Knox to a treatment room," she instructed them. She turned to Grell. "Dr. Peterson will get him stabilized and start a blood transfusion."

Eric came into the infirmary at that moment, carrying the officer that had gotten shot first. He gave Alan a nod and a tense smile of greeting before calling out. "Jus' tell me where tae carry this man an' I'll put him in tha room. He doesnae have much time!"

"Oh dear," murmured Jenna upon seeing how pale the officer was. "Right this way, Mr. Slingby. Are there others this wounded?"

He shook his head. "Him an' Ronnie took tha worst hits on our team. Agent Chesterfield has a leg injury but he's walkin' on his own an' he's been bandaged up. He ought tae be in here shortly. I'm no' sure about how bad tha injuries are on Father Anderson's team."

She nodded. "Well, it's going to have to be 'first come, first serve' and of course, the rules of triad."

Eric followed behind her and he carried the injured man into the small room she showed him, gently laying him down on the bed as she called for assistance. Seeing that he'd done all he could and needed to get out of their way, he went back out into the hallway to see if he could help his spouse with basic first aid until someone with more medical training could get to them.

"I'm all right, sweetheart," assured the Scot when Alan hugged him and started patting his body in search of injuries. He chuckled a little shakenly at the frisking. "Am I under arrest?"

"I'll be the judge on that!" Alan insisted, checking behind each bit of blood he found on Eric's clothes. Luckily, it all seemed to belong to other reapers and he finally gave a sigh of relief. "You should go get changed and soak those clothes before it sets." he finally instructed, picking up a clean cloth and using it to clean another reaper's injuries.

Eric chuckled. "Such a good mother yeh are." He kissed Alan's cheek. "I'll go get cleaned up an' do tha' now, if ya dun' mind taking care o' things down here while I'm gone. Where's Mattie?"

"Alex offered to watch him for me when he got word that you guys were all retreating and in need of medical attention. He promised to bring Matt here to me should he need anything." Alan explained, wrapping the reaper's arm and then moving to the next injured reaper.

Eric nodded. "I'll go find him an' take Matthew after I get cleaned up an' changed."

As Eric left, the Undertaker arrived in the medical ward, supporting Father Anderson's limping footsteps. "Easy chap. We'll get you seen to right away."

"Take care of the more critically injured first," insisted Lawrence. "I can manage on my own until then."

Undertaker frowned briefly at him, and then he shrugged. Lawrence wasn't known for foolishness and if he said he would be all right for a bit, then the mortician believed him. He first asked where Ronald was and he went straight in to assist with him first. The lad was out cold and Grell had apparently insisted on staying in the room and holding his hand while they worked over him.

"I've got this now, my dear," explained the Undertaker to Jenna. "Go and see to the others while I finish up here. Grell can assist me if I need it."

She nodded. "Yes sir."

Undertaker finished stripping Ronald's shirt off and he glanced at his lover as he retracted his fingernails and slipped on a pair of surgical gloves. "How are you holding up, love?"

Grell blinked in surprise, "I only have a bruise on my knees from Ronnie pushing me out of the way. I'm fine-Ronnie's the one to be concerned about! Look at him-white as a sheet." He sighed. At least Ronald wasn't fighting it anymore. It'd be easier to dig the bullet out of him this way.

"I'm looking after him, rose," promised the Undertaker as he turned the overhead light a bit to have a better view. "Oh bother...would you mind tying my hair back for me, darlin'? Just tie it up in a knot if you have to. I just need it out of my way while I see to our li'l friend here."

Grell hurried around behind Undertaker, tugging off the red and white striped ribbon he wore as a tie and using it to gather all of Undertaker's hair back out of the way. "I will not mistreat your beautiful hair with knots!" he huffed as he finished the bow.

Undertaker chuckled and he took extra care as he administered more sedative and pain medication to Ronald. "Easy my lad," he said to the distressed blond. "We'll get this bullet out of you right quick. You just go to sleep and leave the rest to me, yeah?"

But Ronald was already far away, overcome by both the pain and drugs in his system. He didn't know where he was or what was real. He could see flashes of Undertaker as the man operated, but he was also back in Athens. Wandering down the seashore with the warm sand between his toes.

And William.

William was at his side, holding his hand.

Ronald knew better, though. He knew William was gone. The fact that he wore William's glasses and William wore his reminded him of that. But this was also unlike the time William appeared to him in the night. The man had been so transparent like a veil separated them. Now he was whole.

Either he was dreaming...or he was dead.

"Will..." His voice came out a moan of pain, and it was hard for him to tell if it was because he was alive and suffering, or if it was a pain of the heart leaking into his voice.

Grell frowned and snapped his gaze up to his lover, "Please tell me Ronnie moaning William's name isn't a bad thing!"

It was possible that Ronald was just mourning his loss while he was drugged into a state, but it was also possible that he was seeing the other side-and therefore was close to death. Working as a reaper meant that he'd seen many dying souls call out to their loved ones already passed.

"William...I miss you..." Ronald's pained and slurred voice sounded again, causing Grell's heart to thump painfully in his chest.

"Hold on, Ronnie!" he demanded, squeezing the blond's hand tightly.

Undertaker felt his heart bleeding for Ronald. He reached out and held the blond's other hand. "He wouldn't want you to give up, love. Hold on."

He had no choice but to release Ronald's hand so that he could extract the bullet, but he felt some comfort in seeing Grell hold the young man's hand tightly as he finished with his task. He did so with a grim smirk, pulling the offending object out after a bit of difficulty.

Grell sighed, "I'm not leaving his side until he wakes up and tells me he'll be alright." he admitted, glancing up at Undertaker, "We may have to put our dinner plans on hold."

"That's fine by me," assured the mortician. He stroked Ronald's bangs out of his eyes in a fatherly gesture, sighing to himself. He could only imagine what it must have been like for Ronald to watch the reaper he loved get executed before his very eyes. Losing his daughter had been painful enough, but he and Grell never got the chance to get to know her or bond with her. They both loved her, but somehow it wasn't the same to Undertaker. He knew he'd have lost all traces of sanity if it had been Grell to get executed like that.

"Poor li'l bloke." He circled around the bed to stand at Grell's side, putting one arm around him. It was all he could do and he knew how it pained Grell to watch his former apprentice suffer this way. The Undertaker frowned when he felt a shift in the air and he looked around suspiciously. There was a heaviness...almost like the change in air pressure just before it started to rain.

"Grell darlin', I don't think we're alone..."

Then he saw it and he hastily took his glasses off to wipe the lenses just in case. It was very faint, but the outline was still there when he put the spectacles back on. Standing on the other side of the bed was the dim outline of a tall man. It grew slowly more solid as the moments ticked by and the Undertaker was able to recognize the handsome, refined features of William T. Spears. The phantasm didn't move or speak; he just stood over Ronald, watching him with an uncommonly tender expression on his ghostly features.

Unsure of whether his lover could see Will's specter or not, the Undertaker didn't make any sudden moves. He felt his throat tighten with sympathy as Will's ghost reached out to caress Ronald's sleeping face with his transparent fingers.

Grell shot Undertaker confused look, "Of course we aren't alone. Other reapers got injured and are being fixed up in this very room as we speak!" He gestured to the other critically injured reapers still being seen to. It was obvious, again, that Grell didn't see or feel what Undertaker could, just like the times Undertaker could hear their lost daughter. Or, if he did, he didn't let on.

He watched as Ronald turned his head into the invisible touch, finding comfort in it.

The redhead sighed, "Stupid William having to be so noble... if he was still here-maybe it'd be me on this table as it originally was going to be. I'd rather it be me...Ronnie's too young for all this, and I trust myself more not to give in and die..."

"He'll fight, love," comforted the mortician, watching the ghost of Spears with somewhat less shock. It wasn't the first time he'd seen or heard spirits. "He's got more than just us watching over him. Trust me in that."

* * *

After seeing to all of the injured reapers, the council members had a brief meeting to discuss their losses and options. They agreed that they weren't likely to get Copenhagen Dispatch back until their numbers grew, but upon checking the news, Anderson discovered that there were other branches moving in on the Revivalists in Denmark.

"I think it is time for us to consider negotiations again," proposed Lawrence. "That is not to say our rivals will cooperate right away, but it's clear to me that they are slowly but steadily losing ground. This uprising has been gaining momentum."

"With all due respect, sir," A reaper from Guernsey stood up, "We have had one set back since we officially made our move on starting to fight back. Is it really worth a compromise with them? We could take back every branch!"

"Many reaper lives have been lost already," Alan spoke up. "Most of which have been Dispatch agents and workers. It is a known fact globally that there are very few of our kind that has what it takes to work for Dispatch. Every branch is short-staffed as it is and war is killing those very reapers on both sides. Is it not better to preserve as much as we can, even if it means giving up on liberating a few locations? Collections in the mortal realm is already suffering right now due to our civil war. Demons are stealing more souls, souls are escaping to become ghosts... It's time we start focusing on our true purpose in the balance of the world."

The brunet looked up at Anderson, "I for one support the idea of trying to end this war with a treaty between their ideal Dispatch and ours."

Lawrence nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Humphries. Let us take an official vote, shall we? May I see a show of hands?"

Eric raised his, going along with his spouse's opinion. Several others raised theirs and it came as a surprise to no-one that Fabian Olson kept his hand down. It did however surprise Lawrence when the Undertaker crossed his arms over his chest without adding his support. He raised his brows at his fellow ancient.

"I would have thought you would support this proposal, Undertaker."

The mortician shrugged. I'm not exactly against it and we've talked about treaties before, but right now I'm still brassed off. I think they could stand a bit more pressure, personally."

Lawrence sighed. "Yes, but in the meantime as Mr. Humphries pointed out, more reapers are dying. Don't you think it would be best to put an end to this conflict sooner rather than later?"

"Good luck convincing them of that," the mortician pointed out, "but I s'pose it's worth a try."

"I wish we could liberate more branches," Alan sighed, "But I can't help but look at the bigger picture. It's worth a try to help preserve lives, but if they can't yet be reasoned with, we shall continue to put pressure on them and make more liberation attempts."

He looked over at Fabian apologetically. "It is regrettable that we were unable to liberate your home and I understand your reluctance to attempting negotiations."

Fabian sighed and shook his head. "I see why the council wants to take the diplomatic route, but my mind is too set on vengeance for my lost associates and home. I would like to support the motion, but it would feel a lie."

"Fair enough, chap." The Undertaker didn't press him and neither did Lawrence. "Anywho, it looks like Anderson's proposal still has the majority vote. Nobody that doesn't support it has to have a thing t' do with it if they don't want to."

"We do need your support though, Undertaker," Lawrence pointed out, and all eyes turned to the mortician. "You have the most influence on the younger generations due to your past reputation as an agent."

"Erm...they shot me a few times too, if you recall," the Undertaker reminded. "So much for influence, yeah?"

"They fired upon you out of fear, and they were following orders," countered Lawrence. "That does not mean your presence is any less influential. On the contrary, that fear and the respect they have for you may help to sway negotiations in our favor."

"Or make a few of 'em shite themselves," predicted Eric with a smirk.

The mortician clucked his tongue. "I'm getting bloody sick of this 'Legendary Death' farce, you know."

"Then help us take every avenue possible to ensure an end to all this," suggested Lawrence. "The sooner that happens, the sooner you can go back to being a funeral director again."

"Oh, all right," grumbled the Undertaker. "It's a means to an end."

"Very good." Lawrence nodded. "Well then, if there are no further questions or proposals, I will begin to draw up the terms of the treaty with the help of anyone that has suggestions. Those who do not support it or have no suggestions are free to go."

Alan glanced up at Eric. "I'll be staying for this," he informed him, reaching over and patting his knee. "I think I can be of value here with negotiations and drawing up the treaty to propose at said negotiations."

Eric agreed with him. Alan was certainly one of the more diplomatic minded agents from their division. "I'll go an' get Mattie from tha sitter an' bring him back tae our office."

He gave his spouse a brief kiss and he got up to leave with the others who were filing out. When all that remained in the boardroom were those interested in assisting with drawing up the treaty declaration, Lawrence took his seat again and he opened his briefcase.

"Well then, ladies and gentlemen...shall we get started?"

* * *

-To be continued


	31. Chapter 31

Ronald suddenly sucked in a deep breath and turned his head as his eyes finally fluttered open to greet the late evening. He was still in the infirmary, like the other more critically injured reapers, but Grell, it seemed, had gone out of his way to make sure Ronald was comfortable and felt at home - more or less.

Ron's head lay upon a soft, fluffy red pillow, and a matching red comforter had been tucked in around his body.

"Will..." he croaked out, "Will...why is everything red..?"

William gave him an amused smirk before his image faded away and the figure of Grell replaced it.

"You have much more waking up to do if you think I look anything like him, darling." Grell chuckled, "But I'm glad to see life in you again at all. You had me so worried!"

"Grell?"

"Yes! That's the correct name to speak! Good boy!" the redhead leaned in and kissed is junior's temple, "You poor, noble, impulsive thing...No more sacrificing yourself for me! I can handle anything those guns send my way."

Ronald gave a small, weak smile, "I didn't want to risk it...you're my senpai."

"And you are my brat." Grell sighed and took Ron's hand, "I know...you don't want to lose anyone but...no more dangerous heroics, okay? We all worry about you, and...part of me wonders how much of today's self-sacrifice was just you being the same impulsive Ronald we all know and love...and how much of it..."

Ronald frowned, "I don't _want_ to die, senpai. I did that to save you, not to kill myself. I just didn't think that pulling would have been better than pushing if that bullet was going to be harmless..."

"Maybe...but... Oh Ronnie!" Grell flung his arms around Ron's neck and the red pillow, hoping that he wouldn't upset Ron's healing injury, "You are like my kid brother and I don't like the idea of losing you! Promise me no more stupid heroics!"

"...Grell..." Ronald settled his arms around Grell and patted his back.

"Promise me!"

"I...can't. You know how impulsive I am-I act first and think later... and sometimes, obviously, it bites me in the butt."

"Then you are grounded! No more battles for you!" Grell huffed with worry.

The door opened to admit the Undertaker. He overheard the last part and he chuckled in his usual half-mad way. "I think the boy's a bit too old for you to play 'mum' and ground him, love."

He walked over to Ronald's bedside and he ruffled his blond/black hair fondly. "How's the injury doing today, lad?"

"What injury?" Ronald smirked, but then the playful expression faltered as he shifted and the pain quickly reminded him that that was a bad idea.

"My junior, my rules. He's grounded." Grell huffed.

Ronald tried to laugh, "My mum and dad could vouch that grounding doesn't work with me. I have a habit of sneaking out."

"Sneaky li'l buggar." Undertaker grinned at him with approval. "So Ronnie...did you happen to feel like your Willy was close by when you went to sleep earlier?"

At once, he wished he hadn't said anything and he grimaced a little when Grell looked at him with a confused expression. "I just mean our loved ones aren't all that far away after they depart," excused the mortician in a last-ditch effort to correct himself.

Ron frowned, "He was in my dreams like always...we were on the beach. But it felt real, like it was really him. He never really spoke this time, though. just gave me small smiled-no, wait..."

He paused and thought back, "He did speak...right before I woke up...he told me I needed to wake up... That I was getting too comfortable staying with him."

The Undertaker nodded thoughtfully. "Sometimes folk can step too far from the world of the living into the world of the dead. Lucky for you William isn't selfish enough to try and keep you there, chap."

He checked his pocket watch for the time. "Well, I'd best get back. They're going to try and contact the Revivalists to start negotiations. You both ought to have something yummy to eat, yeah? Keep up your strength."

He bent over to kiss Grell on the lips. "I'll let you know what's going on when I know more myself."

"Negotiations already? But we have so much more hurt to put on the bastards!" Grell stood up, "Look at everything they did! Dispatch, innocent lives...our daughter!"

Ronald reached out and grabbed Grell's elbow, "Cool your bloodlust, Senpai. It'd be better if we can end this without more death. Trust me on this one."

Grell's gaze softened and he let out a sigh. "You're such a gentle heart, Ronnie... Makes my passionate one melt... Alright, I'll be good and stay here, but if they try any funny business, I want you to teach them a lesson for me, Unnie!"

"Cross my heart," promised the mortician. He waved and then he headed out the door to help with final preparations.

Grell sighed and looked at Ronald, "You are a good influence on me, Ronnie-I don't like it."

Shrugging, he then turned towards the door, "I'll go get us some supper, anything in particular you want, darling?"

Ronald shrugged, "I'm not picky."

* * *

The Undertaker chose some food after discussing the issue with Anderson, and he returned to Ronald's room. "Right then...we're going through with the treaty. I suppose I've got to be the one to deliver it. Not too happy with that."

Grell looked up from where he was trying to force-feed Ronald a wedge of sandwich. "Well... you are the most impressive face we have on our side... And if it works you can finally let your hair down."

Ronald took the opportunity to push Grell's hand and the sandwich it held away from his face, "Help, he's going to either make me fat, or choke myself into a comatose!"

The Undertaker laughed at that. "My dear, if Grell is forcing food down your gullet then you must need it! Calm yourself down and have it."

He sat down next to Grell and he smirked, amused at the blond's thwarting efforts. "Come on, then...eat up! You need food, lad."

Grell gave a small huff, but said nothing further on his feelings of the matter. But he was frustrated. He turned his head and looked out the window, "I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight." he muttered to himself before hopping up and hurrying over to his lover, taking Undertaker's hand in his and clutching it to his chest as he gazed up into the man's ancient eyes. He then made his request, "Spar with me! Get me all hot, bothered, and exhausted so that I may sleep tonight!"

Ronald nearly choked as he tried to swallow, "I dun' nee' da 'ear da'!" he coughed around the sandwich in his mouth.

"I'll be happy to wear you out," chuckled the Undertaker, "with loving, if sparring isn't going to be enough to do the trick. Mind excusing us for a bit, Ronald?"

"Well I sure don't want you doing the nasty here in my office!" Ronald shooed them out with his hands towards the door, "I'll be fine here in bed."

Grell giggled, "I really was talking about sparring, Ronnie. I need to vent some of my frustration of this whole peace treaty deal Pops wants us to do. And I won't have to hold back on Unnie. I know he can take what I dish out."

"Well I don't want you wrecking the place, either!" Ron huffed, earning another laugh from Grell who blew a kiss his way before slipping out into the hall.

* * *

The day of negotiations came and they won a small victory. The leader of the board from the Revivalists agreed to a prisoner exchange and to withdraw back to his headquarters in Wales, but they would not agree to relinquish the branches in other countries that they'd taken over. Both Lawrence and the Undertaker did their best to convince them otherwise but they would not budge. Because they had arranged this gathering for the purpose of avoiding further bloodshed, they took the deal and returned to London headquarters to let their people know.

"It was worth a try," Undertaker said to the assembly of Dispatch agents. "We can have a chat about other options and when our numbers are high enough, we can think about taking some of those branches back by force."

"That solves nothing if we are to get them to agree to a peace treaty." Alan shook his head, "If negotiations are going to continue to work, we can't be attacking them at every turn. They are showing interest in compromise, and that means we have to be open to it equally. If either of us are to show force again I'd rather they be the ones to start it. We want citizens to continue supporting our cause."

"We can't allow them to keep what they've stolen," Fabian Olson said sternly.

"I understand your feelings perfectly," Lawrence said to the Dane, "but for now, this is the best that we can do. Mr. Humphries has a good point. A treaty is pointless if we break it ourselves with hostility. It may be possible to negotiate their withdrawal from Copenhagen with time. Please, Mr. Olson, let us establish a solid rapport with their leaders."

Fabian didn't look one bit happy, and the Undertaker shrugged, empathizing with him. "I think we're out-voted, chap. Be of good cheer though; all of the prisoners they were holding got released. Things could turn around yet."

Without another word, Olson got up and left the board room. Anderson watched him with a sigh. "Well, it is unfortunate that we can do no more at this point, but there really is no help for it."

"We all want things to be back the way they once were, but it can't...I think he knows that, he just hates that we haven't been able to free his home dispatch from the Revivalists' control." Alan sighed before glancing over at Alex. "Maybe you could calm him down."

Alexander nodded and he flushed a little. "Y-yeah. I think I know just how I'm going to try and do that, too."

He didn't bother elaborating as he excused himself and got up to go after Fabian. The Undertaker grinned and he started to say something, but a warning look from Anderson kept him from speaking his thoughts.

"Well, I believe this particular meeting is officially dissolved," sighed Lawrence after a moment when nobody else offered any further opinions on the matter. "Let's just see to things around here and try to get on with our lives in the meantime. I believe it's safe to say that those who still have homes to return to can do so. Those who don't are welcome to take up residence here at headquarters until they can pick up the pieces. Let us try to get back on track and return to some sense of normalcy, shall we?"

"Home..." Alan smiled and glanced over at his husband. The two of them have been dreaming of finally being able to settle down with their son in a permanent location. They wouldn't be able to do that right away, but getting back into one of their apartments was the first step. And then, after peace was finalized between Dispatch and the Revivalists, they could start on building a home for themselves, perhaps in Eric's home country. They had entertained the idea a few times already, and Alan seemed to find himself falling in love with the idea more and more as time passed.

Not having Thorns also helped encourage the idea. He was healthy, and each day it was easier for him to live without the side effects of the cure.

"Should we settle in your apartment or mine for the time being?" he asked, taking Eric's hand.

Eric smiled at him and he squeezed his hand back. "I think yers is a little more roomy than mine is, lover. I'd be happy tae pack up an' move wha' I can fit in tae yer place, fer now. We can put tha rest o' it in storage 'till we get tha chance tae move."

He leaned over to give Alan a kiss on the cheek, unmindful of the other reapers still in the board room. "Let's go an get tha wee one from tha sitter so we can have dinner an' talk about it some more, aye?"

Alan nodded and stood up with his husband, "If anything comes up in regards to the peace treaty, I'll be in our office tonight, still." he informed Anderson before he walked out arm-in-arm with Eric.

"Well, I s'pose that's all there is for today," muttered the Undertaker. He shook Lawrence's hand and he put an arm around Grell. "Ring me if you need anything, old chap. I think Grell and I have a bit of planning to do ourselves."

Lawrence nodded and he smiled at the couple. "Best of luck to you both in your future. I believe I need to start making a new roster of Dispatch agents. Some are retiring, some are staying and some have transferred from other branches." He sighed and he stroked his chin in thought. "This is going to be a lot of paperwork. I miss Spears more than ever, now."

Undertaker looked at Grell. "Maybe we could help you with that? I don't want to volunteer my lady here but I'm willing to do my part."

"I don't mix well with paperwork." Grell crossed his arms, "But I'll start back up with field work as soon a you want me to. I have no plans for retirement!"

Ronald sighed and stood up, "I'll help with the paperwork. I'm not in much a mood to return to partying, and I don't trust myself in drinking right now. We don't need me turning into an alcoholic. And if work needs to get done..." he nodded and straightened his shoulders, "I'm not as good at it as Will was...but I can be a decent help, sir!"

Anderson gave Ronald a fatherly smile. "That's the spirit. Thank you, Mr. Knox." He regarded the Undertaker and Grell. "And thank you both as well. I feared I would be all on my own in attempting to resurrect our establishment from the ashes."

The Undertaker patted his old friend's shoulder. "Think nothing of it. I still plan to get back to the mortuary business once it's all sorted out, but I don't mind helping out for a bit longer until the dust settles."

"Well and good, then." Lawrence checked his pocket watch. "It's nearly dinner time, it seems. Shall we, gentlemen?"

Everyone who hadn't already left nodded in agreement.

Grell swooped in and wrapped an arm around Ronald's shoulders, "Promise me you'll come to me if you need to talk. Don't bury yourself in paperwork."

"I've already told you I would, Grell..."

"Promise me again. You made me promise you these kind of things when I was going through a bad time."

"Yeah, but you being emotional could lead to a murder spree." Ronald joked before taking on a serious look, "I'll be fine. I just need...time. Lots of it. I'm sure you can understand."

Grell nodded, "That, I can..."

* * *

"Fabian?" Alexander peeked into the office room he and the Danish reaper were now sharing as their temporary living space.

"Yes?" Fabian was sitting on the fold-out futon that they had been sharing as a bed, looking through a photo album that he'd brought with him.

"Are you up for some company?"

The blond man looked at him. His handsome, chiseled features were contemplative. "It is your room, too. Why would I ask you not to come in?"

Alex smiled. "I just didn't know if you wanted to be alone for a while, that's all. I know you're pissed about the Copenhagen situation."

"Your company is welcome, as always."

Alex took a deep breath and he came in, closing and locking the door behind him. He walked over to where Fabian was seated and he sat down gingerly beside him. He looked curiously at the photo album in the older reaper's lap. "What's all this?"

"My coworkers in Denmark," answered Fabian, "and some of my family."

Alexander checked out the pictures and he recognized Fabian in some of them. "Have you been able to reach any of them yet?"

Fabian shook his head. "No. They could all be reaped, for all I know."

Alex hugged his companion. "Don't think like that, okay?"

Fabian turned to face him and the smaller reaper swallowed nervously. Fabian brushed his thumb against Alexander's lip, and he stared into his eyes. "You have become very important to me."

"I...well, yeah. Same back at you." Alex ducked his head and he bit his lip.

Fabian chuckled. "I think I might have gone mad by now, if it weren't for you."

He embraced his companion and he kissed him deeply. Alex's breath caught and the Danish reaper slid one hand down tellingly. He tensed involuntarily at the other man's touch, and he felt an interesting blend of excitement and trepidation. His inexperience didn't prevent him from responding to Fabian's kiss, and he slid his fingers through the older reaper's flaxen hair. Fabian reached out to dim the nearby lamp and Alex didn't stop him when he tugged his fly down. They had been through Hell and back together, and his social anxiety could be damned for all he cared.

* * *

Eric and Alan moved to the Scottish countryside a few months later. Alan opted out of returning as a dispatch agent and he chose to become a nurse instead, having found a liking for taking care of others. Eric transferred to the Edinburgh branch for the sake of convenience. Ronald and Grell stayed with London Dispatch and the reaping territories were split between the remainder of the Revivalists and Dispatch. The Undertaker returned to his work as a funeral director, re-opening his shop. Grell moved in with him and the two of them finally decided to take their vows and commit to each other as spouses.

Afterwards, discussion of trying again to start a family began. Undertaker was careful about bringing the subject up, unsure of how receptive Grell would be to it. "I know it's been hard on us both love, so you don't need to answer this right away if you aren't ready to talk about it. We've taken all other steps so far, though. How would you feel about trying for a nipper again?"

Grell seemed to be uncharacteristically nervous as he bit his lip hard enough to draw beads of blood around each sharp point. "I want to have a baby with you. I do," he admitted in a low voice. "I want to raise a child with you and give our daughter a sibling. But I can't…I can't go through that again, Unnie… I can't trust my body to carry to term. I…would you mind terribly if…you carried this time, my love?"

The Undertaker paused for a moment, briefly startled by the request. He honestly hadn't even considered that, and even as he thought of it, the idea seemed more sound. He and Grell _did_ have a certain arrangement, however. He was a versatile reaper though, and he did want to have children with his rose—a thing which he'd never have imagined before.

"You don't mind taking the top position for a bit, then?"

"Darling, I enjoy both positions!" Grell insisted, taking Undertaker's hands in his. "I'm just so used to taking bottom—so to speak—as all my past partners have preferred it that way. I tend to get too rough with them."

As he spoke, Grell let his thin, lacy nightgown fall from his shoulders and slide down his body, only getting caught on his excited member as he had nothing on underneath.

"I am a beast tamed only temporarily, my silver temptation, and only just when I submit to it. When I dominate I hold nothing back. I take what I want, I fill what I want, and I bite what I want." He approached the bed slowly, guiding Undertaker along with him without breaking their gaze.

"I'm giving you fair warning, now, my love. I may not be able to stop once you let me start."

The Undertaker stared at his lover's exposed body, once again stunned stupid. "Oh dear," he managed, throat tightening. Who in their right mind could resist such a thing? Those creamy-pale shoulders, those thick-lashed eyes, those long, graceful limbs...

Undertaker swallowed visibly, and he loosened the collar of his clothing. "I'm willing to do whatever you want, love." And it was true: he'd go to the very moon and back for Grell. He'd come to care for him much more than even he realized himself. He began to shed his clothing in demonstration, eyes locked with Grell's as he slowly removed the garments.

"I do love you so, my pretty li'l rose."

Mischief glittered deep within pools of green and gold before Undertaker no longer was able to look into them. Grell spun him around and forced him to bend over the edge of the bed, the redhead's body pressed against his rear and back. Grell's soft cheek brushed over Undertaker's shoulder blade and red-tipped fingers brushed the long silver locks aside.

The Undertaker looked over his shoulder at his lover with an almost uncertain glance, having grown used to being the "topper" in their relationship. "This all right by you, darlin'?"

It would be their first time together this way, and he found himself unreasonably nervous.

"I," Grell started to kiss along his lover's spine between each word he whispered, "am going to enjoy every last bit of you tonight." He straightened up, arms wrapped around Undertaker's pale, scarred thighs, hugging them to his chest in a tight, possessive embrace. His face was planted deliberately between the round mounds of flesh of his lover's backside, his slick tongue circling around the tiny muscle of his entrance; wetting it before his lips enclosed around it, sucking lightly as his tongue continued to explore the bud.

"Oh," breathed the ancient, surprised by Grell's actions, "Th-that's a bit...unexpected...but lovely."

It was a bit of an understatement. He couldn't recall the last time a lover had kissed him that way and he had to force himself to relax and simply feel it. His pale lips parted and his head fell back, relishing the moment. "Grell...that's wonderful, love."

He'd done the same for the crimson reaper on numerous occasions, but he wasn't expecting this sort of reciprocation. He bowed his head and he purred softly with pleasure.

Grell gave a low hum, introducing small vibrations as his tongue slipped just barely into Undertaker's entrance, one hand sliding up to stroke his shaft.

"Darlin'," sighed the mortician, rocking into Grell's touch. He couldn't decide which way to move—backwards into the redhead's busy mouth, or forward into his gripping hand? He was out of practice with taking this role and his impulses were at war with one another.

"Hmmm," Grell smiled, his cheeks pressing against his husband's bottom, "It isn't yet too late if you change your mind on this, my love." he muttered against his rear, "But my little gentleman is getting excited quickly."

"I think the chances of me changing my mind are rather slim," gasped the Undertaker. "I'm a versatile reaper, m'dear...and I do want to have a nipper with you. Do your worst—or in the case, your best. I've no doubt you'll have this old fart screaming with pleasure before long."

"Any requests?" Grell asked, grabbing one of the many bottles of lube the couple had stashed around their bedroom and using it to coat his fingers, "Or do I get full creative control tonight?"

He rubbed his slick fingers around Undertaker's entrance before pushing one into breach him, slowly entering to a knuckle and then sliding back out as he shifted his body upwards, his lips sliding over the pale skin of Undertaker's back.

"Hahh...I'm not adverse to a bit of hair-pulling, if y' like," gasped the mortician. He shuddered at the unfamiliar sensation of being breached. Mercy, how long had it been since he'd had a lover this way? He generally only did it in the past with humans, as they had no chance of getting him up the duff. Such was the precise goal of this encounter though, so he fought off his faint misgivings and reminded himself that this was his rose he was about to couple with...his Grell. He wanted this, and he wanted a child to come of it.

"Other than that, I'm happy to do whatever your beating red heart desires."

Grell smirked, "Has it been," he plunged his finger all the way inside and flexed it against Undertaker's inner walls, "-so long, my silver love? You sound almost like a virgin."

He gave a small giggle and reached up with his free hand to tangle it into Undertaker's long silver locks.

Undertaker gasped and he tensed involuntarily when Grell's questing digit pressed against his prostate. "Unh...yes. I think you'll be my first this way in...oh...some three decades? Merciful death, that feels odd...but good."

He bit his lip and his pale brows furrowed with the unexpected burst of pleasure shooting through his spine. "D-does it please you to know you'll be the first inside me for so long, darlin'?"

"It certainly makes tonight special-I'll try to be gentle at first."

Grell sucked on his lover's ear, tongue toying with a piercing as he worked on stretching him, preparing him for his second finger, and then a third. Once he had Undertaker stretched and moaning into the pillows, the redhead withdrew his fingers and straightened up. He paused long enough to slick his member; cheeks flushed red as he did so. It had been so long since he'd had to prepare himself to take a lover; he hoped he could still please Undertaker this way.

"Alright, better grab the sheets, I likely won't stay gentle long...knowing myself." he warned as he pressed his tip to Undertaker's entrance, his hands gripping his hips as he pressed inward into his heat.

"O-oh!" he gasped. How he had forgotten how good it felt to be surrounded by such a tight heat. Maybe he'd request to top more often after this.

Undertaker moaned again, biting the pillow impulsively while grabbing it tightly in his hands. "Grell...ah, love..."

He couldn't describe the feel of his lover's hard, hot flesh inside of him even if he wanted to. He didn't quite remember it feeling this intense, the last time he'd given himself to another this way. He pushed back against the redhead, taking him in deeper as a result. Panting for breath, he turned his head to glance over his shoulder at Grell, his bangs partly obscuring his vision. Grell looked just as amazed as he felt, and the Undertaker smirked.

"Enjoying my ass, lovely?"

"Mm," Grell slowly withdrew and then pushed back in, "more than I thought I would, my love-ohh Heavens, Unnie!" he withdrew and snapped his hips back in a bit quicker than before.

"Nnngh!" Undertaker bit the pillow again as the forceful pump drove Grell's cock right against the gland within him. "Easy, darlin'. Too much of that and I might forget to be submissive."

"I did give you my warnings." Grell grunted, continuing to move within his lover, picking up in speed. "Maybe this will help you remember your place tonight." With a grin, Grell gathered Undertaker's hair up on one hand, giving it a yank.

The mortician cried out in a droning, low moan and he clenched his teeth, his ass clamping down impulsively on Grell's hard length. "Ah...mother of...oh, bugger it...fuck me, love. T' hell with it all, that feels so bloody good!"

The Undertaker shoved back against the smaller reaper, turning his head to one side as much as Grell's merciless grip on his hair would allow. He broke into a sweat and his lips parted to rasp endearments. His nails began to shred the sheets he was grabbing onto, but he hardly cared.

"Grell...unh...sweet, red death..."

With a shark-like grin, Grell picked up his speed even more and lowered his head, razor teeth scraping against his lover's shoulder and drawing lines of blood beading to the surface.

"Oh how much I love you, my love. Let me taste you." he husked as he licked up the blood, following the sensation up with biting down like a predator set on holding its prey down. His red nails bit into Undertaker's hips and he let out a growl of satisfaction.

The pain of being bitten blended nicely with the pleasure of being taken, and the Undertaker groaned. He didn't mind Grell's nails digging into his alabaster skin...didn't mind the blood beading his lips as his lover's tongue delicately licked it up. He let go of the sheets and he clutched at Grell's slender shoulders, rolling his hips with the other reaper's thrusts. He tossed his head and he started to come...hard.

"Rose," panted the mortician. "Ah...love!"

He spurted against Grell's tense abdomen, clenching tight around his penetrating length. It felt strange and wonderful to him—this sensation of climaxing with another's cock inside of him. He hugged the redhead and he moaned, his silver-lashed eyes squeezing shut with ecstasy.

"Ah-hh~!" Grell's flamboyant voice sang out as his lover's body spasmed around him just right, causing him to breach his limit and spill out into Undertaker's deep heat.

"Ohh-Unnie!" He pumped himself a few more times as he hugged the elder tight, his movements sharp as he coaxed every last drop out of himself and into Undertaker.

How long had it been since he'd climaxed while topping? With trembling thighs wrapped around his hips, and a gasping hottie pinned under him?

Grell slid his hand down along Undertaker's sides and caressed his leg before relaxing atop him, pressing light kisses along his collarbone. "Oh, you felt wonderful, my love~"

The mortician was still panting heavily, in a daze from the experience. Much like Grell, he hadn't had it this way for some time. He was distantly surprised by the intensity of his climax, and he presumed it was partially due to his feelings for the partner he was with. He would always prefer to be the "giver", but the Undertaker had to admit to himself that with Grell, being the receiver was quite satisfying. They were likely going to have to do it this way several more times in the future, if he were to conceive. He didn't mind the thought at all.

Undertaker sighed and he stroked Grell's perspiration-dampened, crimson bangs out of his eyes as he looked down at the softly kissing reaper. "I do love you so, m'dear. This was a memorable experience, indeed."

"Mm, I forgot what it's like being the man." Grell smiled, "I wouldn't mind switching things up once in a while after we have this baby."

He nuzzled his lover's neck with a happy sigh.

The Undertaker chuckled softly, tilting his head back to bare his throat more for Grell. "I'm happy to accommodate that desire, lovely. As always, I'm yours however you want me."

"Mm, I know. But remember I can cater to your own desires just as much as you do to mine~" he winked, "Ahh, but first we have this baby to think of."

Grell rubbed his husband's belly.

The Undertaker smirked, trying to imagine himself with a pregnant waddle. Of course, there was no guarantee that they had conceived from this one try, but he was quite willing to keep at it until he knew for certain he was carrying.

* * *

-To be continued


End file.
